Dragon Age Oneshots
by NevaRyadL
Summary: One shots from the DA worlds that I don't want to do anything with. Will involve light nonsexual Yaoi mostly, rated M for safety. Open for requests.
1. Chapter 1

I started churning out on shots a while back and posting the porny ones on Ao3. I thought about posting the not so graphic ones here, but then realized there were only one or two. I counted this morning and realized that there were a lot of none graphic ones, so I'm posting those ones here.

I am open to requests, but I hold some strict rules!

1.) These will likely not be done in an timely manner and could take upwards of two weeks for me to write depending in my schedule. I apologize, but being an adult sucks like that, money first, shameless fanfics later.

2.) If it is a porn request, it will not be posted here because of rules. It will instead be posted on Ao3 where I will make it available to non members. Also, I WILL NOT do rape, underage, dubcon, necro, hate couples/sex, mind breaking, anything to do with slavery, or anything too graphically bloody, as well as changing most char's "canon" sexuality. That stuff is slightly triggering to me, and I don't think I could make myself write it, not to mention, I'd rather not get raged on by straight/Queer fans for 'stealing' anyone.

3.) I am a poor sod, so I haven't read the books. These requests shall have to be limited to DA Origins, Awakening, DA2, and DA Inquisition and all DLC excepted the one with Sebastian in it.

* * *

><p>He wondered what he found so appealing about the Warden, as he watched him sleep one night.<p>

Perhaps it was his eyes? Tints and shades of green, with hints of yellow, like sunshine through leaves or sunshine on grass. Eyes that carried so much emotion, turning warm and liquid like when he was in calmer and happier moods, but cold and flat when he was angry and sad. Eyes that seemed to constant move as he took in everything around him, eyes ever on the alert for threats.

Perhaps it was the tattoos? Vines tattooed across his forehead and the opposite across the opposite side. And underneath the armor, the same across his shoulders, his hips, thighs and calves and then his feet. Nature pulled and the placed onto him, the intricate detail done in the vines was astounding.

Perhaps it was the lean frame? Nothing but lean muscle like a wild animal? A frame meant to go flying through the air, slicing this and that, or prowling through the shadows unseen. Lean muscles that looked so irresistible when covered in a fine layer of sweat from either fighting or other things.

Perhaps it was way that his cold exterior hid a soft center? Being cold to villains and then turning right around and helping a child with a smile, throwing scathing remarks at an old man and then helping him limp forward with gentleness. Lying to Morrigan to her face about her mother, but then finding an hand mirror for her and bring out her gentler side.

Perhaps it was because the Warden had spared him? Saving one's life certainly had a habit of making one more appealing.

Perhaps it was because... he liked watching the softness in the Warden's features as he slept, the way he slept on his side just right to squish his cheek against his pillow or the ground. Perhaps it was the way that the Warden smiled at him with such warmth and love. Perhaps it was the way that the Warden kissed his temples after a long fight, breathing hard against each other's blood stained skin. Perhaps it was the way that the Warden curled up against his during the night, breathing hitched as he dreamed his intense dreams.

Perhaps it was... just that the Warden loved him? To have such a wild creature that loved him was beautiful and breath taking and heart warming and comforting?

Perhaps that was it. Just the fact that someone loved him as deeply and warmly as the Warden did, when he thought himself incapable of such. To have that one person to hold during the long nights, to talk with during the days, the person to make love too instead of just having sex with. The person that warmed him from head to toe even with the bitter winds flowing.

He scooted closer and pressed a kiss against the tattooed forehead of his Warden, watching the Warden's mouth twitch into a little smile for a second before smoothing over again. He brushed his fingers across the Warden's cheek, cupping it gently.

"My dear Warden"

Tanned fingers found his wrist, black eyelashes fluttering before opening to show sunlight through wild grass colored eyes.

"I am yours"


	2. Ash, Ashes, Giant

Just saying what my future male Tal-Vashoth Inquisitor is going to be called.

* * *

><p>He stumbled over a charred corpse, eyes blearily registering it for only a second before he continued walking through the ruins that had been a small trading town until... what had happened? He did not remember. It was all too fuzzy, his head hurt too much, his arm was numb from the shoulder to the fingertips. He was walking... for some reason. He could not remember.<p>

The air was not the right colors. Vile greens and yellows, like the colors of nightmares, like pus and infection, like the sheer color of disgust. He heard screams and yells in the distance, sounds of whispers and laughter in inhuman pitches. He felt things brush his legs and arms, voice giggled against his ears. And he pushed on, and on and on away from all of it.

He coughed on the ash in the air, the foul taste filling his mouth as he loudly panted out of his mouth. He thought his nose was broken, and that was why he was breathing out his mouth. It felt broken, it was bleeding down his face. It hurt to breath through it. Was it broken? It certainly seemed that way. He coughed, spitting out a wad of thick saliva that was mostly ash.

He lifted his arm to try and focus his fuzzy eyes through the ash floating through the air. He looked and saw a jagged scar through his destroyed gauntlets. Peeling away the broken and half melted leather and metal, he revealed the ash dirty grey skin underneath. And the new scar that was nestling in his palm and carved a path down to his elbow. Looking at it, he watched the scar start to glow a wicked green color and then change back to its scar like state. That was not normal, nor was the numbness. But there was not a living soul in sight to help him. He needed to keep walking.

He foot caught a sword, buried in the ash. Unthinkingly he bent down and carefully picked it up. It was a sword he recognized as belonging to one of the mercs that he was traveling with before... whatever happened. Sifting through the ash revealed a charred helmet with a gory skull inside. Dead. And that was all he needed to know to realize that the others were dead as well. Bastards were still bastards, but even they were tough. If one was dead, so were the others.

He got up, dusting himself off and kept walking.

His vision fuzzed over and his mind blanked over. He found himself falling forward, face hitting ashy ground next to the charred, greasy remains of some poor sod. His mind struggled to focus, to try and keep up, and he could not. His mind swam in darkness and he lost consciousness.

He awoke to a sharp kick to the side. He snorted awoke, inhaling ash and dust which spurred a round of harsh coughing. But the pain of his lungs trying to reject the ash within them spurred him awake, to his knees. He sputtered and coughed, hacking up ashy phlegm. Tears dripped down his face as his eyes tried to cleanse themselves of the ash and dirt, and his stomach clenched up in warning as his lungs struggled to hack up the ash.

There was a gauntleted hand in his hair, grabbing a fistful before he could stop it and yanking his head up to look a very pissed off black haired woman glaring down at him.

"What is your name?" She hissed.

He struggled with his dry mouth, having to deal with the ash in his lungs and mouth to work up the spit to speak, but even then, his voice was rough and cracking like the ground underneath him. It rumbled and cracked like a storm.

"Ashkost Adaar"

"Qunari don't often travel alone, unless they're scouts" The woman sneered "Let alone out of the damned Fade"

"Tal-Vashoth" He corrected.

"Regardless, your kind do not travel alone"

"I was not alone" He said somberly before turning as much as the iron grip in his hair would allow to look around.

His mercenary group was likely greasy smears on the ashy grounds, killed in the blast that should have killed him, though he did not mourn them. They were not the honorable sort, and he was already thinking of leaving their company soon anyway. Now he did not need to fight with the bull headed leader about his contract.

The woman mulled over something for a moment, glaring darkly at him as she thought. He felt the hand holding his hair tightening, felt her encouraging him to his feet. After a moment of struggling, he managed to get up, to stand, wobbling on weak legs as he now towered over the woman. She had to let go of his hair, but with her hand free, she could go for her sword. There was no way that he could win against her in his current state. No way.

"You walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you, the only one who escaped a blast that killed thousands. And you have no idea how you survived?" She said before drawing her sword and aiming it at his throat "At this moment, you are the only threat I see"


	3. Different Things

Adaar opens up to Cole. No smut, friendship fluff. #DoNotMolestTheDeadGhostChild2k14

* * *

><p>No one is really suprised when the Inquisitor proved… skittish of Cole's presence. He often jumped when Cole materialized into the room, flinched when he spoke up, and sometimes even sought refuge in another room when it was just the two of them left together. They blame it on Vashoth teaching and the like, how 'his kind' often spoke ill of magic and all that was attached.<p>

However, it does not help that Cole seemed to find the Inquisitor intriguing. The way that the Inquisitor stroked on two red lines across his left cheek every morning at the crack of dawn. The golden rings around the middle of his horns. The way that he seemed to tower over everyone, but never once was imposing. The way that he drifted off into thought often, and deeply at that. The way that he walked like he had weight on his shoulders, even more than his armor.

And perhaps it was Cole's child like intrigue that drove him to corner the Inquisitor.

While the grey giant was sitting by a window in the hold they were staying, watching the rain hit the glass in thick sheets, that Cole suddenly appeared sitting next to him. The sudden appearance shocked the Inquisitor enough that he slammed his head backward against the stonewall at his back, causing a rather strange noise to come from his horns hitting stone. While he held his throbbing horns, he took in the pale young man now sitting across from him.

"Cole" The Inquisitor grunted.

"Inquisitor" Cole said back simply.

"Startled me there" The Inquisitor quipped, trying to make light. But it was obvious by the tension in his shoulders and in his jaw that he was nervous. It is something that Cole does not miss, but chooses to ignore.

"Sorry"

"It is no problem" The Inquisitor said, somewhat on edge.

After a moment of the two sitting there, the grey giant stiff like a statue and Cole oddly relaxed, Cole finally tilted his head to the side and parted his dead white lips.

"I didn't realize that you could feel things in your horns"

"Somewhat…" The Inquisitor said, idly scratching behind a pointed ear "They work like animal horns… I guess"

"I don't know how those work"

"Ah well...horns often are made of the same material as nails, teeth and hair, just thicker and more condensed. The thicker the horns, the more support they need, and thus nerves run through the center much like nail quiks in animal talons. It is why having a horn suddenly severed can either be nothing or exceptionally painful depending on where it is severed" The Inquisitor rambled, trying to fill the quiet.

"So… you jostled the nerve?" Cole asked.

"Yes, I suppose you can say that"

"Like jamming a nail?"

"Not quite that painful" The Inquisitor said.

"Ah"

And there was a heavy and awkward silence where the Inquisitor fidgeted and looked around while Cole stared at his horns. And perhaps had it gone on a little longer, the Inquisitor would have found an excuse to leave. Sword practise, reading, war planning, meeting with Dorian, drinking with Iron-Bull. Anything to get away from Cole. But the dead youth had another question.

"Can I touch?"

"Excuse me?" The Inquisitor sputtered.

"Your horns. Can I touch them?"

While the Inquisitor was a fairly reasonable man, and could work his way out of most situations with a calm conversation or bullying his way out with his mass, he realized that Cole had cornered him. If he refused, then that would be outright saying to his companion, his friend in battle and a tortured youth trapped in death, that he disliked him and even found him creepy to the point of not wanting to be touched by him. But if he said yes, then he would be allowing a creature that he did not even know if it was a demon or a spirit to touch him.

After a long pause, the Inquisitor asked

"Why?"

"Because, they seem interesting. Yours curl backwards like the Arishok in Varric's stories, you even have four of them like the Arishok. But your put those funny little gold rings on them, and you paint the tips red. I've also seen you gouge a man's face to death with them" Cole said, hands already lifting upwards, white skin nearly glowing in the dim light of the room "And because I want to see what they feel like. If they're alive like the rest of you"

"..."

Cole's hands caught the base of the Inquisitor's horns, just above where the layers of skin hid where it connected with his skull. His thin fingers rubbed along the rough surface, feeling the slightest thump of the Inquisitor's heartbeat within the nerves that the grey giant spoke about earlier underneath the bone like surface.

He worked his way up, feeling along the ridges, the gouges, marks left from a warrior's lifetime in the rough surface. As he worked up, the dead youth found the Inquisitor bowing his head more, and then bowing his chest. The grey giant was giving him easier access. And he thought for a moment that perhaps he had gotten through to him. But by the time that he made his way to the gold rings that the Inquisitor wore on his horns, he felt a distinct stiffness in the Inquisitor's frame, marked by the occasional quiver.

With his fingers still on the bone like material, occasionally rubbing the gleaming surfaces of the gold rings, he asked… or rather stated quietly

"You are scared"

The Inquisitor locked up for a moment, face hidden by his hair and his position. But then his deep rumble like voice whispered

"Yes"

Seeing that as his mark to leave, Cole started to move his hands away. He would leave the Inquisitor alone, and the Inquisition alone if that was the kind giant's rule. He would not remain if he was not-

"But because of ignorance"

His hands faltered.

"I do not understand you Cole, you are an unknown, and that is why I fear you"

His hands hovered, left fingers brushing a deep gouge that was probably left by a sword.

"It is because I was taught to fear magic, to feel demons and spirit and to fear the Fade. It is because I was never taught anything about magic, and thus I understand none of it. When I say I fear you, it is not you, your character or your appearance that I fear. But the unknown about you that I do"

His fingers moved back up, finding the coolness of the gold bands again.

"I am completely ignorant of a lot of things. But I am learning. Dorian is eager to fill my mind with details of magic, and Vivienne is eager to show me a different perspective of everything Dorian teaches me. Solas wishes to show me that the Fade is not something to be totally fearful of, just needing an open mind to look at"

He worked his fingers up to the smoothed over points of the Inquisitor's horns, blunt but still lethal as he saw the Inquisitor gouge a man's face out with them before, after all.

"I… wish to learn from you as well, Cole. Perhaps if I were not so ignorant, I could stop fearing a perfectly acceptable friend like you"

Red paint came off on his fingertips, far too bright to be blood and a delightful cherry like in color. The Inquisitor did like cherry red, much like the Grey Warden liked the color green, and the Champion like the color blue.

"Will you teach me, Cole?"

He let the Inquisitor's horns go, letting the grey giant lift his head enough that he could look into those yellow and black eyes. They were still a bit fearful, but honest.

"...Okay"


	4. Tranquility

Fenris thinks about a Tranquil Hawke.

* * *

><p>He was not sure what to expect, when he saw the two siblings fret over Hawke like a child. He was not sure what he thought, when he saw the two siblings argue over Hawke's safety and someone that minded him at all times. He was not sure what he felt, when one day hot at the Hanged Man, Bethany brushed dark bangs away from Hawke's face and he saw the Tranquility mark on Hawke's forehead.<p>

Hawke, until that point, had come across as overly blunt, honest and emotionless. He figured it was from a life with an Apostate sister and a mother like his. He figured it was just the way that Hawke was, perhaps it was something with his brain, or perhaps it was just the way he was taught to act. He did not think for a second that it could have been because the man was Tranquil.

Tranquil as far as he has seen were docile creatures that spoke flatly. Hawke spoke flatly, but he was a warrior that went into battle with cold strategy and precision as sharp as his blade. There was no flair or life in his movements, and he had thought it was because Hawke was not taught by a formal teacher. But, after seeing that mark on Hawke's forehead, he realized it was because Hawke's mind thought coldly. Without emotion and affection or dreams or any color.

He did not know if he felt pity for the man who could not feel or dream, or simply as a fact that a rebellious mage got what was coming to him. When Anders found out, he ranted and raved about the vileness of the situation while Hawke sat there sipping water. When the Abomination was out of breath, Hawke turned to him and said simply

'What is done is done'

When Merrill found out, she cried and sobbed and told Hawke how his world must have been so lonely and sad without being able to feel emotions or dream. Putting down his book, Hawke turned to her and simply said

'My world is simply more focused'

When Isabela found out, she asked gently what had happened. Hawke said

'The Templars had found us. They threatened Bethany, my father and myself. Bethany was the better mage, and my father held the family together. It was more logical that I go myself'

When she pressed for more details, she got

'I was too rebellious, to lively. They fixed me'

When Varric asked if he really could feel nothing, Hawke said

'I feel the arrow pierce me, I feel the sword cut me, I feel the hammer slam into me. But I felt nothing when my father died, I felt nothing when my home burned and I felt nothing when my siblings were in danger from the ogre'

Of course, when he was around him, Bethany and Carver stood guard like dogs. He could hardly say anything around Hawke without them getting mad and all but assaulting him. They claimed that a 'mage hater' is what made their brother Tranquil. They would not have a 'mage hater' gloat over what their brother had become.

One day, he actually managed to talk to Hawke. He asked...What was it like? To which Hawke said

'The most hellish existence one could imagine. Being dead inside their own skin'

And he was not sure but... that sounded awfully... sad. And the more he thought about it... the more he realized just how terrible the rite of Tranquility was. To make one stop feeling emotions, to make one stop dreaming, to sever all ability to make attachments, to sever the ability to even enjoy life... it was like being dead inside your own skin. And the more he thought about it... the more he pitied the man that could not feel anything.

Hawke was dead inside his own skin, he was dead and still walking. And perhaps some part of him was still aware that he was Tranquil and suffering. Hawke was gone and his body was still walking around like a corpse.

When Hawke helped Anders find Karl, surprisingly enough, and then turned into Justice, they were all surprised when Karl and Hawke suddenly returned. Karl had barely gotten a word out when Hawke looked at his siblings, him, Anders... and tried to slit his own throat with his dagger. He was stopped before, but he begged the others to kill him. To free him from the pain and torture of being trapped inside of his own body. He begged through tears to die. He would rather face death then remaining Tranquil.

THe effect of Justice surfacing did not last long, and soon Hawke returned to his normal self. He apologized for the outburst and coldly asked what Anders intended to do with Karl.

In the end, he found himself pitying to man to the point that it was painful to just look at him. His heart broke at the sight of Hawke coldly doing everything, of speaking without emotion and life. Of Hawke acting without attachment and feelings. And he found himself becoming more and more willing to put aside his hatred of mages just for Hawke, just for the man that made his heart hurt just looking at him.

When Bethany was taken to the Circle, Hawke just accepted it. When Carver went with the Templars, Hawke just accepted it. When Isabela betrayed him, he just accepted it. When Merrill destroyed her life and dragged him into the mess, he just accepted it. And when he tried to break free from his former life, Hawke just accepted it. And the more that Hawke 'looked at things logically' the more he could not stand to be around the man. It just... hurt... so much. Hawke was dead, it was so obvious that Hawke was dead, and this thing walking around in his skin... was nothing pleasant.

When his master laid dead, impaled several times by Hawke's sword, he wanted to leave. There was nothing left, nothing to tie him down. He could not remain around Hawke anymore. It hurt too much. But when he left for the door, Hawke stopped him with words alone

"Fenris... what do you plan to do?"

He looked back with a grimace

"Leave" He said simply.

"Why not stay? You would be useful in the upcoming fight"

Logical as always, and he found the temptation to leave almost unbearable.

"I am sorry Hawke, but there is nothing left for me here"

"I..." Hawke's voice faltered, enough to draw the attention of Aveline, Varric and himself.

Hawke's voice never faltered, never wavered. He was steady and never changing. So when his voice sounded... like he was going to cry...

"I... could use you"

"...Hawke. Are you saying that you... need me?"

"...Yes"

...How else could he respond but by staying?

Somewhere... deep inside of Hawke... it seemed that he was still there. And perhaps... it was out of pity. Or perhaps it was out of some odd affection. Or perhaps it was out of the want to make the pain and hurt go away. But he wanted to see if there was a way to fix Hawke. To see if there was a way to bring out the man trapped inside of the walking corpse.

He would bring that man out... some day.


	5. Going At It

Adaar and Bull duke it out. Implied Dorian/Adaar. Bad Frozen ref.

* * *

><p>When Cole reappeared in the war room, he was surprised that only Sera and Josephine were there. Usually there were quite a few of the others, were there not? And was the Inquisitor more often than naught in the war room, making plans for the next battle?<p>

"Where's the grey one?" He asked.

Of course, at the mere sound of his voice, Sera jumped and took several steps away from him. Despite being a 'friend' to the Inquisitor, and having proven himself not to be a demon in disguise, the little elf did not seem to like him at all. Not one bit.

"He's outside sparring with Bull" Josephine said, neatly stacking a pile of papers before casually adjusting a book on the table and throwing a glare at Sera "The rest have gone to watch"

"Sparring?" He asked.

"Rough housing for adults" Josephine chuckled.

"Oh… why would someone want to watch that?"

"Well… according to Dorian, it's watching two muscular men getting sweaty while grabbing at each other, according to Varric, it's seeing who is stronger of the two, according to Cullen, it's seeing the Inquisitor's close combat skills first hand, according to Cassandra, it's the same as Cullen, according to Vivienne, it's the same as Dorian and…" She placed a delicate finger on her lips "Am I forgetting anyone?"

"Pops and Hedgy" Sera added.

"Ahh, Serah Blackwall...oh, I think he went out there to offer tips to keep the fight going and Solas is out there to patch everyone up should anything go terribly wrong" Josephine said, picking up a few more papers to add to her neat little pile.

"Ah...where are they sparring at?"

"Back most courtyard"

And with that, Cole was gone.

His hands slammed against Bull's, fingers digging into the backs of each others' hands as they tried to out strength each other. Veins bulged along his arms as he fought to not be pushed back by Bull's strength. He always knew that Bull was strong, but to actually be pushed by that strength. It felt like pushing against a wall.

Bull grinned at him, sweat pouring down his face. The bruise on his cheek from a lucky punch earlier was just starting to show, darker grey against his grey skin. Just like he was sure that his split lip from a teeth rattling kneeing to the mouth was still dripping blood.

And perhaps this little sparring match had… escalated to the point it was a full blown fight. And perhaps they were being a little too brutal, perhaps it had dissolved into a fight for their egos. But he would be damned before he let the damned Bull beat him.

Realizing that their arm strength was probably matched, he resorted to something childish. Bringing his head back, he slammed his forehead against Bull's with enough strength that a vivid 'crack' rang through the air. Skin split on both their foreheads, and as they jumped back from each other, blood dripped down their faces. Bull smirked as blood dripped down the side of his nose and then down to his smirking lips. He scowled as blood dripped down his brow, around his eye and then down the side of his face.

His head rung with pain, as it seemed that Bull's head was measures beyond how thick he thought it was. Or perhaps it was the placement of his horns that gave him a strong brow? Either way, at least he broke the stalemate. He lifted his arms and readied for the next strike. He was not going to lose to Bull of all things.

Bull at him, sending a jab at his stomach, he sidestepped, and then delivered a kick to Bull's gut. Had Bull not been so muscular, it would have done more damage, but it was good enough for Bull to lose his breath. Seeing the opening, he brought his leg up and then brought is smashing down on Bull's back. Bull went down, gasping for air.

Without thinking, he sat down on the small of Bull's back, grabbed his horns and yanked his head up enough so he could slide an arm underneath his chin.

"Do you submit?" He grunted as Bull struggled.

And then several things happened.

"Dear Inquisitor, that is a suggestive- GAH!"

He looked around, dropped his grip of Bull's head to see Dorian recovering from what was likely a sudden appearance from Cole, as the pale youth was now sitting with the spectors, looking at his feet as Dorian held a hand on his chest. And of course, with his attention elsewhere, Bull took advantage.

Bull twisted around, bucking him off and sending him onto his back onto the ground, head awkwardly angled with his horns holding his head up. And then Bull was sitting on his stomach, arms folded across his chest and looked quite happy with himself. He glared darkly up at the damned bastard.

"Do you submit?" Bull asked coyly.

"...Two words, Bull" He growled.

"Oh?"

"Fuck you"

He worked one of his arms loose from Bull's thigh grasp of his torso and then slammed his fist down in Bull's crotch.

He hissed as Dorian dabbed a cloth wetted with a potion onto his split forehead, feeling skin pull itself together and close. Meanwhile, Cole sat just behind him, curiously looking at the scuffing that his horns suffered from behind slammed down back first.

"Sorry for appearing so suddenly, Inquisitor" Cole said after awhile.

"No problem, Cole" He said as Dorian lovingly spread potion on his split lip "Though you really need to be aware that randomly appearing is going to startle people"

"I'll try"

"Now your hands, Inquisitor" Dorian said.

He placed his left hand, and his busted and bleeding knuckles, into Dorian's. He tried not to think about the difference in size between his hands and Dorian's, it would take his mind places that were inappropriate to be with Cole around. It was a good thing that Cole was to his back though, as he was sure that there was a dark grey blush to his cheeks.

"So… will Bull be alright?" Cole asked "He's still curled up on the ground… kinda like a kitten, only bigger and one that smells like stale beer"

"He will be, his… uh, pride, had been hurt" He explained, looking over at the Bull a bit away, curled up like Cole had said.

Dorian snorted in laughter.

"What's so funny?" Cole asked.

"Maybe another time" He said, nudging Dorian with his free hand to quiet the magister.

"I'm going to tell him" Dorian said deviously.

"Oh no you don't" He hissed back.

And Dorian just laughed.


	6. Bonds and Mistakes

M! Dale Warden/Zevran. Bondage. No smut.

* * *

><p>To see the Warden go into a flying rage is nothing new. The elf was wrathful to the point that even his rage scared demons, and terrified even massive Qunari warriors. When he went off the handle, so to speak, his Companions would just let him and seek shelter elsewhere. Let him scream, screech and destroy anything he can get his hands or swords on until he has calmed down again enough to talk some sense back into, and then get his swords away from him and let Zevran distract him for a bit until he was calmed all the way down. It was the same situation every time... however, they were sure that this time was different.<p>

The Warden had just pulled his swords from some of Howe's guards in the dungeons. Howe himself was dead in a pool of his own vomit and blood. It seemed like the fight was over... but the Warden still seethed and breathed like animal while fresh blood dripped off him in rivlets. They realized the signs of a rampage were coming on, but could not figure why. The fight was over, most often than naught, were his rampages not after talking to someone or during the middle of a fight? Why was he so angry?

"My dear Warden" Zevran said soothingly to the tensed up Dalish elf "What is the matter?"

There was a heavy silence as the Warden breathed like an animal and dripped blood freely. His hands had formed white knuckle grips on the hilts of his dual swords, and when Zevran took a few steps around the elf, the Antivan rouge saw that the Warden's lips were pulled back over his teeth and his jaw was taut. He looked so much more like an animal then he already did, it was almost frightening. And it was frightening to see such a rage in him without a provocation.

"Theroan?" Zevran asked quietly, too fearful to approach.

And then he goes off, letting out a noise that would have frightened even the animals in the forests that the Warden grew up in. The elf goes bounding away, swords held in a death grip. And the group is unsure if they should follow or stay a safe distance away.

Sometime later, after running back through the dungeon and killing any stray guards and freeing any stray prisoners. Perhaps an hour had gone by since the Warden had run off, so the group assumed that the Warden has let off enough steam that is is safe to seek him out.

"Let us hope that nothing ill has happened to him" Leliana said as they looked around for him.

"I hope not" Zevran muttered sullenly.

They wandered around and around, finding nothing. Worried that he had taken off outside of the dungeon, they headed towards the exit and then outside. Quickly running to the main marketplace in Denerim, they decided to split up to look for him. It was likely that he was causing a stir wherever he was, so it would just be easier to split up then stick together.

Zevran took to the back alleys, Alistair went searching through the marketplace, Leliana went to the Pearl.

When he took to the back allies, he thought he would find the Warden simply destroying things, violently unleashing his rage without harming living creatures. However, as he passed through an alley that opened up into a larger area, he found the Warden slicing his way through a rather large group of men in armor.

Apparently, he had been hacking and slashing for quite some time, as he was painted from head to toe in fresh blood and his blades seemed to seep it whenever there was a second's pause in his wild movements. He looked... like a blood soaked image of war.

Thinking that it was safer, he let the Warden carve up every bandit and cut throat in the mess, watching the bodies pile up higher and higher until there were none left to drop. Again it was just the Warden and all the death and destruction around him. Just him and all the blood that dripped down his body.

"Warden?" He called out softly.

The Warden spun around, baring teeth. Those teeth did not disappear when they saw him. The Warden was still... angry. How could he have been so angry after killing so many people? The Warden was never this angry before-

"Leave me alone!"

The girdle snarl was something he sort of expected. However, he did not expect to see the Warden turn heel and start walking away. Something the drew an impulse from him. He reached into his bag and pulled out a belt and started walking after the Warden. When the Warden seemed to be paying the least amount of attention, he jumped forward.

"Maker, what happened?"

"What the hell?"

His lower lip busted, a gash underneath his left eye, his knuckles busted and red, and a bound, blindfolded and gagged Warden being dragged behind must have been a sight to the others.

"The Warden may or may not be a bit more angry then when I found him" He replied cheekily, dragging the Warden to his tent.

He opened the flap and dragged the thrashing, bound elf over to his bedroll and laid him on it and then left to find Wynne and her healing magics.

After he had the damage healed from his scuffle with the Warden, he sat by a nearby creek and sharpened his knives, taking his time. When he was done with that, he took patrol duty off of Morrigan and took his time with that as well. When Alistair took his spot, he found that Morrigan had made stew for the camp and divulged himself in that, again taking his time.

He was hoping that the Warden would calm down if given a few hours bound up like he was. Mainly because it was only until after he had bound up the Warden that he realized just how stupid it was of him to do it. The Warden was a free creature, and grew violently when someone bound him. He remembered the time that he thought he would spice up one of their evenings by loosely binding the Warden's hands together. The Warden ripped free with his teeth, punched him, and declared the mood killed. And that was how he found out that the Warden did not like to be confined.

So the more he thought about he tight leather belt binding the Warden's arms behind his back, the leather bit in his mouth, and the blindfold over his eyes, the more he realized just how pissed the Warden would be. If he thought he knew what pain was before, the Warden would rewrite his personal definition and then give multiple examples. And after some time, when the sun had finally set, he figured that he would get the pain over with and went into the Warden's darkened tent.

The Warden lay face first on his bedroll, black hair in a mess and spilling wildly around the sides of his face. His hands were relaxed, slack in their bindings, and dried drool was plastered down his chin. When he approached, the Warden moved his head groggily towards his general direction, but otherwise did not react.

He quickly took off his armor, leaving himself in his trousers, before gently kneeling by the Warden and gently touching his hair. The Warden flinched harshly, jerking his head away and letting out a low and muffled groan of pain in response. He gently reached out and touched the Warden's cheek, causing the Warden to jerk his body away this time, ending up on his side. In the low light, he saw the red marks around the corners of the bit in his mouth along his tanned skin. He must have thrashed so hard for so long to end up like that...

He reached out again, grabbing the front of the Warden's armor and yanking him forward. The Warden let out a muffled animalistic noise and thrashed with renewed energy. He flailed and twisted as he was dragged forward, fighting even with his arms bound. He ended up dropping the Warden on himself, feeling the Warden's face smack his bare chest. He was about to get a better grip in the squirming elf, when said squirming elf stopped squirming. There was a pause where he could only hear the Warden's harsh breathing, and then he felt the Warden go lax on top of him. The tensed up lean body just turned into limp, dead weight and he was worried that the Warden had passed out for a moment. But when he touched the Warden's hair again, the Warden sluggishly turned his face until he was touching the Warden's cheek.

After a moment, he gently started brushing those pitch black strands away from the Warden's face. More and more he moved those ragged locks away from that face until he could clearly see the Warden's face. Underneath the dim light, he saw that there was dried drool that streamed upwards as well, all the way to his under eyelids, like he had had his head upside down for awhile. Probably trying to get his way out. And then he saw something that truly surprised him. Just underneath the edges of the blindfold... was red and irritated skin... like he had been crying. When he brushed his fingers across the black material, he felt dampness, only confirming his fear.

He had... driven the Warden to the point of tears. And that-

His fingers slid underneath the leather bit, working back until he hit the knot and then undoing it with a few tugs. The bit came out with strings of saliva from the Warden's red mouth. The irritation was worse underneath, where skin had been rubbed to the point that blood pooled just underneath the skin in angry red marks. He also saw that the Warden's teeth left deep marks in the leather, deep enough that the Warden would likely have an exceptionally sore mouth for a good long time.

Gently brushing saliva from the Warden's red lips, he listened to the Warden work the kinks out of his jaw and then gingerly lick along the red sides of his mouth. He gritted his teeth when he hit the corners of his mouth, and he saw the Warden's face distort in a sort of emotional confusion.

"...Zev?"

His voice was ragged, cracking and obvious that it had been used at the top of the Warden's lungs for hours. It broke his heart more to see what he had done to him.

"...Yes"

"I...need a...potion" The Warden croaked.

When the Warden made no motion to move off of him, he hooked an arm around his Warden's chest and reached out for his belt. Fumbling for a moment, he found a small red bottle in one of the pockets and took the cork out with his teeth. He gingerly brushed the edge of the bottle's mouth against the Warden's lower lip and then poured the contents into the Warden's open mouth.

Swallowing proved hard for the Warden, as trickles of red potion leaked down the Warden's already red mouth. He gently wiped them away with his fingers, gently brushing the red droplets on his fingers across the red marks. He saw the redness fade into an agitated pink color.

Once all the potion was drank down, he reached around and undid the leather belt wrapped around the Warden's arms, which fell limp. He gently took the lean arms, one in each turn, and gently kneaded the red marks and bruises that had formed from the Warden's wild thrashing. He was surprised when the Warden did not lash outwards, but just let himself be touched. He seemed... relaxed.

And then he reached up and undid the blindfold, letting the black material fall, revealing the Warden's red and puffy, bloodshot sunlight through grass colored eyes.

"I...am... so sorry" He said quietly.

The Warden collapsed into his lap, nothing more than dead weight leaning against him. He wrapped his arms around the Warden, his Warden, and gently ran his fingers through those black strands. He did not know... what to do... but he would have done anything to make it right again. Anything-

"I... realize...that I... have a problem... with my temper" The Warden croaked.

He buried his face in the side of the Warden's neck.

"But please...don't ever... do that... again...please..." The Warden said, his voice cracking and cracking "I was... so scared... and... alone... and hurt so much"

He hugged the Warden tightly, trying to make the hurt go away. Away, away from the creature that he loved so much. The hurt that he had unwittingly caused.

"Please... please don't... ever do that... again"

"Of course, my dear, dear Warden. Never again, not matter what. I'm so sorry, so very sorry"


	7. Brothers

Cute moment when Adaar helps Cole out. Friendship fluff. #DoNotMolestTheDeadGhostChild2k14

* * *

><p>It was his bane that he found himself the shortest person of their group.<p>

Standing on his tiptoes did not work, trying to find something to stand on did not work, Ash had forbid him from teleporting outside Skyhold and combat, and he was doubtful that Bull, Ash or Blackwall would assist him in seeing whatever the large group of people gathered were looking at.

He sighed, pulling his hat lower over his face to hide its paleness from a few glancing strangers, before again trying to stand on his tiptoes to see. There were numerous balconies and rooftops that would have been perfect to just teleport too, but Ash had said no teleporting. He grumbled as he unsuccessfully managed to see over the tall gentleman in front of him.

Flopping back onto the soles of his feet, he tried listening to those around him. He heard far too much muttering for him to decipher what was going on. Something about news and an elf and a mage perhaps? Ugh, there were too many voices around him.

He tried again on his tiptoes, and a rude passbyer bumped into him, causing him to fall sideways into Ash. Said giant looked down at him, arching a heavy eyebrow at him as he recovered himself.

"I can't see" He whined.

It took Ash a moment to remember that not everyone was as tall as him and realize his predicament. The grey giant frowned heavily in thought for a moment and then stooped down to his level, and then further down until he was on his knees.

"Hop on my back" Ash rumbled.

He took a moment to remember previous months where Ash was too terrified to even be in the same room as him. And here they were, Ash offering to help him see after only a moment's pause. And he smiled at the gentle giant, and shimmed onto his back. When he was snugly in place, Ash stood up to full height and he got to experience what it was like to be as tall as the giant. It was...thrilling.

As it had turned out, there was a man having claimed to have seen the Champion and the Warden Commander. He even had pictures to show off that he had drawn himself. His skills left something to be desired, but they looked like how Varric and Leliana described the two. An angry looking Dalish elf and a pretty white haired man.

And he was thankful he got to watch as the man spun a silly tale about meeting them, Bull muttering about telling Varric about it later, while the crowd watched with rapture.


	8. Playing Hero

Adaar plays hero and pays the price. Iron-Bull/Adaar fluff at the end.

* * *

><p>He supposed it was karma.<p>

His Arishok told him on his dying breath that rejecting the Qun would come back to haunt him. Told him that rejecting the role of Arvaarad would be doubly evil because it meant that all the Saarebas would be freed. Told him that the Qun would hunt him down.

He really should have slit that bastard's throat before he said so much.

Whatever the case, he blamed his rotten karma on the situation he was in.

A blast caused by magic had torn apart his group, sent him flying into a weak building, which collapsed on him. Both his arms broken and lost from the others, he started wandering towards the way he thought Skyhold was. But then the survivors of the blast made themselves known. Mostly broken and unable to move, he had to use his teeth and legs to unbury them from rubble, and then drag them into a mostly intact cart.

Now with a rope in his mouth, he dragged the cart of broken human behind him as he walked towards Skyhold, still many miles away. His arms screamed in pain, as the broken bodies behind him groaned and sobbed. A child called out to its dead mother, a weeping widow mourned her husband and her burnt off legs, a man mourned his lover through broken teeth and a torn tongue.

He wanted to try and make light, think that he really was a 'Oxman' now. But then the pain in his arms and the people behind told him to focus on putting one step in front of the other. The dark clouds told of a nasty storm heading his way, and the broken humans would not be able to live through it.

His body was big and strong, trained to control Saarebas through physical might while they remained bound in magic sealing chains and collars. More than once he had broken something to ensure that Saarebas obeyed him, yanked on hat leash he held so tightly, demeaned and destroyed those poor creatures because the Qun demanded it. And he supposed in this instance of trying to save about a dozen broken humans it was good… but only in this instance.

There was a fevered cry from the wagon, and none of the adults or the single child. He looked over his child and watched an old woman pull a small bundle from her ragged clothing. She tried to shush the baby, trying to sooth whatever disturbed it. And seeing this, the woman with no legs suddenly wailed

"NO!"

The man missing his teeth and tongue ripped the baby from the woman, putting his farmer's body between the baby and her.

"It's enough that you killed your own children with your drinking habits, you're not taking someone else's" The woman growled.

He was forced to listen to the old woman and the farmer and the widow bicker and scream and yell at one another as time drulled on. Whatever distracted them from their pain he guessed. But there was a point when the bickering turned into ugly screaming and he was tempted to dump the cart and walk back himself. Humans had never been his favorite race anyway.

"Hey!"

He heard little feet rushing up by his side and looked down to see the motherless child now carrying the screaming bundle. He hiccuped miserably, and as he looked, he realized that the child was not a filthy child covered in muck and grime. This was… a Qunari child. One without horns, surely, but a child with heavy features and eyes like his, and brown-grey skin. Which meant that the child was much younger than he thought, as Qunari children were larger the human children.

The child held the bundle tenderly but awkwardly, trying to be gentle to something he was new too. And after a long moment, he stopped the cart and bent down. After taking a few steps, the child realized that the cart had stopped, and turned around to face him. He let the rope fall from his bruised and sore mouth and looked at the child.

"Are you part of the Qun, imekari?"

The child shook his head. Perhaps older than he thought, if he knew what the Qun was and if he was not part of it. A runt then.

"Vashoth, then?"

The boy nodded.

"As am I" He lied.

The child's eyes brightened greatly.

"...why do you help the human infant?" He asked softly.

"Not human…" The boy said, his voice barely above a whisper "Elf child… elf child taken in after its clan was killed"

"A Dale child then? Then the question remains the same... Why help the child?"

"Because… we're alone now. Mama was killed by the blast, so was his mama. And mama once said… those that are alone are kin. And the humans don't care about him… so I'm his kin. And mama told me that kin protect kin"

"...as they should" He said sadly, retrieving the rope and walking again, the child struggling to keep up with his long strides.

Almost two hours after the blast had happened, the woman was unconscious. The man had torn some of his clothing to stuff into his mouth to collect blood. The old woman was whining that she wanted mead. The child was breathing hard, running to keep up. They would not make it at this rate… but he was tired and struggling to keep his eyes open.

So tired, he just wanted to sleep…

His knees hit the ground before his mind could catch up. With a surprised grunt, his eyes snapped open and he took deep breaths in to wake his mind. The child caught up and put a small hand on his shoulder. And he realized that there was a way to help the child keep up and keep him moving.

"Climb onto my shoulder, imekari" He ordered briskly, letting the rope fall.

Blinking, the child hesitated, then then used his free hand to grab onto the back of his ruined armor and start climbing up. A few cuts on jagged metal later, the child was seated behind his head on his shoulders, the now tired baby between the child's body and his head.

He got the rope again and started walking. He just needed to keep walking. Just keep walking.

Whenever he started to fade, the child would tug on his hair, waking him again. If the child could not catch him, and he fell to his knees, the motion would wake the child and it would begin screaming anew, startling him awake. And between the two they cleared the distance between them and Skyhold just as the storm was coming in.

Cold, half frozen rain droplets started peppering them. He started running, pushing his exhausted body to the absolute limit. Thunder rolled in the distance, and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Muscles burned as his skin chilled with the rain, fire underneath ice. The child squished the body of the baby between his body and the back of his head, protecting it. The farmer hunched over the widow to protect the stumps of her legs.

The guards posted above the drawbridge saw him, and it took them several seconds to recognize the Inquisitor. There was loud calls to lower the bridge as he raced across the increasing wet ground. His feet were slipping, his toes were numb, his arms felt like they were burning up. The baby was screaming as cold water seeped through its blankets.

With a thunderous thud that was lost in the storm, the bridge fell to the ground and he raced across into the safety of Skyhold and-

His big body fell, sending the child and baby rolling across the ground and the cart rolling further into the keep. Cold rain fell onto his back as he passed out from the pain.

The next three days were sheer agony that passed in blurs and blobs of harsh sensations, images and sounds.

His arms had to be set, painful in on itself. He spent two hours screaming as his bones were shoved back into place and his arms tightly wrapped together. Someone was tried to comfort him, touching his face and rubbing a wet cloth across his forehead. But it just seemed to hurt as much as his arms and he screamed anyway.

His second day a fever set in, and with his arms wrapped tight and bound to his chest to keep them still in his fevered thrashing, he ended up vomiting over himself and the bed he was lying on. There were several attempts to clean him from sources that his eyes refused to comprehend, as well as a few attempts to move him to a different bed. But being touched hurt too much, and he ended up thrashing too much to be moved. He was sticky with puke, sweat and phylem.

The third day he was mostly unconscious, and had continuous nightmares about the abuse he put Saarebas through. He sobbed himself awake and then whimpered himself back to sleep just to have another nightmare. At least while he screamed his way through his nightmares, someone found the time to clean him and move him to a new bed. Several times he felt a large rough hand on his face, and tried to recall who it was with his fevered mind, but could not.

On the fourth day, he managed to rouse himself to semi-clarity. He realized that he was in the spare room he himself had turned into a sort of 'Healer's Room'. Which meant that Dorian was the one that had his arms set and bound. Good… the man had an eye for perfection. His arms would heal right.

Sitting up was difficult with his arms bound to his chest, but he managed to anyway. His movement roused the attention of a young man in mage robes, he quickly left and returned in a single minute with his Companions. All… of them.

"Inquisitor!"

The advisors, his battle Companions… everyone. Had he worried all of them that badly?

Dorian came forth, elbowing through until he was closest.

"You had us worried, Inquisitor. Both your arms broken, sickness, exhaustion, you were literally half dead when you stumbled back to the keep" The magister smiled tiredly.

"..." He tried to form words, but his throat was raw and scratchy, and his lips hurt to much. However, Dorian seemed to register that he was trying to speak.

"Sera, Vivienne and Blackwall returned shortly after you did. As you can see" Dorian said, gesturing to them in the group "They were not as seriously harmed as you were"

"Imagine our frustration losing your big, grey arse" Sera playfully griped. There were scratches on her full cheeks, but nothing serious.

"We searched for hours before we returned to the Keep to gather help. To see you there… was comforting" Blackwall sighed, left eye bruised.

He sighed, glad that it was all-

Eyes snapping open, his mouth tried to form words again, crackling sounds escaping his raw mouth and lips. And after a moment of trying to decipher what his lips were formed, Solas ventured a guess.

"The survivors you brought back?"

He nodded frantically.

"More or less alive. A few will not be able to recover what was lost in the blast" Dorian said, a hand on his shoulder.

He mouthed something else.

"I can't… what are you trying to say?" Solas asked.

"Imekari" Bull finally said, voice rougher than usual "A child"

"Oh, the Qunari child and the Dale baby?" Dorian asked, to which he nodded "The child is fine, nothing more than a few bruises. The baby was fine as well, though in need of some food"

He fell back in bed, completely at ease. Everything had gone almost completely great… and… this was not something that he was used too. He was so used to something backfiring. To something not going right. To someone dying, to someone losing something precious, to losing something himself. And…

...it was nice.

Bull suddenly bullied his way to the front, other moving out of the way of the massive Qunari. And when he was in front, he was suddenly being kissed by Bull, the big creature's face scrunched up in emotion and his good eye watering.

"Next time you try and play hero" Bull growled "Don't"

He smiled cheekily.

Nope.


	9. Colors of our lives

No pairings.

I have a habit of color coding my Wardens to remember them. This is how the color affected them at key moments of their lives.

Yes, I know I used default names. But I couldn't come up with a creative name to save my ass if I tired.

* * *

><p>Theron Mahariel:<p>

Through the thickets, the branches, the bushes and the leaves, through the life of the forest, past the plants and wildlife, no one could ever see his green eyes or the tattoos on his face. It just blended in with everything around him, happy to be another piece of the puzzle that made up his clan. Green against green and he was content to remain that way.

Against the stone, the thick mud, against the washed out colors of the city garments, past lakes of shed blood and still bodies, everyone notices his green eyes and the tattoos on his face. They are treated as warning signs, glaring beacons of his Dalish heritage and elven status. Everyone seemed up in arms against his eyes and tattoos. And he could not help but wonder… what did one have against the color of nature and life?

It makes him stand out, makes him feel ever more keenly the lonely road that he must walk until his feet bleed… all over a mirror and his friend's curiosity.

And when his Keeper mutters about missing his damned green eyes, he breaks a little on the inside, as he walks away with that damned shem he owed. Leaving the happy greeness for the ugly dull colors of the city.

* * *

><p>Kallian Tabris:<p>

Her skin was always pale, as well as her hair and eyes. Her coldness seemed to take in the colors around her, making her almost invisible. She wished it worked as well as it had her wedding day, when that shem seemed to reach through her disguise and slapped her unconscious.

Awaking to that dull brown room, her skin taking on the dullness, she wished harder still that she could fade away, away from all this trouble. But then she had to slip through those hallways, paleness making it easy to slit throats and slash tendons. And as she went, her paleness was stained a brilliant color.

She was less and less invisible as she went, becoming painted with this strange color more and more until she bathed in the pig blood of the bastard that hurt her family. And then she was stained with it, her skin her hair, her eyes and her shredded wedding gown.

Forever she was stained red, and forever she would remain visible to the rest of the world.

* * *

><p>Solona Amell:<p>

The Circle was a cold place, full of fear and distrust and hatred. She wrapped herself up, even when all the fireplaces were roaring. And when her first successful spell turned out to be ice, they started calling her the Ice Queen.

And in celebration of her new regal status, she got her hands on some smuggled in face paint and dyes, and painted her lips an icy blue and her hair to a iced over blonde. She dyed and decorated all her robes shades of blue and walked around with her head held high and her eyes narrowed.

The Ice Queen of the Circle Tower she was, until she heard rumors of her so called friend's attempt to escape. She did not want to be the Ice Queen anywhere else, and told of his plan to Erving. Her heart was a cold as her magic it seemed, as she lead the two through bitterly cold blue stone hallways to the trap.

She admitted she did not want to see the look on that Templar's face when he heard of her coldness. She knew he fancied her, and she did love the way his eyes changed color with the lighting, how she sometimes saw them change to the color she thought that the sea was.

In the end, her iced over hair was stained with the blood of her friend as he escaped, and she stared at her blue robes in disgust at all the blood Jowen had shed to flee. And in the end, she supposed she would always remain the Ice Queen, even outside the Circle, as Duncan lead her away.

* * *

><p>Faren Brosca:<p>

His mother, once in a fit of rat piss whiskey rage, called both his sister and his red hair another insult to their casteless name. He rather liked that their hair was both stained the colors of fire, like the smith forges he could see from a distance when he was in the market place. Fire like the lava and flames that ran through Orzammar.

His red hair made it easy for him to be found. After he had run off again, after mother got mad and wanted something to kick, after his sister started getting pretty, after he got in trouble with the boss, after he had gotten in trouble with other gangs. And even after ever beating, all the insults and digs and everything life threw at him… he still liked his fire colored hair.

When he was sent out to influence the Proving, and had to dress up as that noble, he had to hide his hair underneath a heavy helm that felt like it was going to snap his neck. He hated it, but needed to protect his sister. And went out, feeling alien that someone had not called him out because of his hair.

Slashing and hacking, he almost won, had it not been for that drunken lout waking up and ruining the guise. But that meant that he could toss aside that helm, let his hair stream out like the fires of the deepest depths of Orzammar, and watch as the crowd took in the sight of him, his damned brand.

And his fire colored hair.

* * *

><p>Sereda Aeducan:<p>

Growing up with men had a way of grating on her. It seemed that the women of Noble status were too busy being wives instead of warriors and smiths. And so, to bother the men around her, she had her facial tattoos done in a flowery purple color, and the braids in her hair done up with purple string and beads. No one was going to forget that she was a woman AND a warrior. Never.

Her brother teased her about her fondness of the color, and she loudly declared it the color of royalty. Even if she could not sit on the throne, she would at least stand next to it, decked out in her favorite color. Even if it bothered all the men around her, she would not stop loving the color purple.

When her brother framed her, dumping her into the Deep Roads to die. She forgot for awhile what colors were and everything around her turned into an ugly rusty brown color. And as she took bent and broken weapons, forgotten armor and anything else from the ruins, slicing through monster after monster, she forgot about the color that made her smile.

When Duncan found her, her face was stained with Darkspawn blood, as well as the braids and beads in her hair. And as he tried to rouse her mind, scrap some of the blood off of her, she remembered the color that she loved and started crying.

And when she faced her brother again, a cloth dyed purple was wrapped around her great-axe handle. She buried that axe in her brother's head.

The tattoos on her face had been done over in black.

* * *

><p>Aedan Cousland:<p>

His 'merry' blonde hair was a delight to his mother. She called it the color of sunshine, the color of summer, the color of sweets, the color of happiness and warmth. He was her little 'Sunshine' and to his father, 'Blonde Pup'. And while it annoyed him, he did not much mind the attention that his blonde hair got him.

It really was a cheery and happy color, and it seemed to lit up the expression of whoever saw it. So he grew it long, carefully braiding it after it grew past his shoulders. It was the envy of the other Noble sons, the desire of the Noble daughters, his mother's delight and his father's amused annoyance. His blonde hair was just… something that made people happy.

But then that night that Howe betrayed him… the night did not reflect well on the happy color. It looked like a dull and limp, pale blonde color. It was not sunshine, it was not summer, it was not sweets, it was not happiness and warmth. And it seemed to remain that way, all the way to the end when he had to leave his mother and father behind.

When he returned to the light of day, his hair was once again the happy blonde color that made people happy… and he hated it to no end. He was not happy, he was not cheerful, he was not filled with warmth. He was cold, dead and alone in the bitter world. And when the chance came, he chopped off the braid he had grown and dyed the mess left over a muddy brown color.

After he had slain the Archdemon, he went back to his castle and walked through the disaster left untouched. Piles of bodies and patches of dried blood, all the way to where he had last seen his parents.

They were dead, father bloodless and a sword sticking from his mother's guts. He took their hands and wrapped their fingers around the braid he had kept. His happiness died with them, his warmth, the summer days, the taste of sweets on his tongue, and the joy of being with family all died with them.

It seemed fitting that they take the only reminder that he once felt happiness with them.


	10. Cold, Grey Heart

WARNING: Dorian/M!Adaar fluff. Dorian wonders why Adaar is so cold, and gets him drunk to find out why. He gets more then he bargained for.

Testing out a new personality for Ash... or a headcanon brother. Haven't decided.

* * *

><p>The Inquisitor was… hard to approach.<p>

First, the creature was a massive Qunari on par in sheer size with Iron Bull. While Iron Bull had girth, the Inquisitor had height and muscle tone. It was whispered that many would pay good money to see the two go at it, to see which was more powerful. And it was often whispered that money was on the Inquisitor.

Secondly was his appearance. Being a mercenary of course meant that the man was dressed to look tough… but it was obvious that he thoroughly enjoyed the merc lifestyle. Firstly the jagged stumps of his horns suggested that they had been cleaved and struck multiple times by many types of weapons.

And then the jagged scar that started at the left temple and carved a wicked path down the left side of his face to the corner of his mouth where the scar tissue could not meet his lips, always making it look like he was scowling with slightly bared teeth. Not to mention the numerous other scars that marred the giant creature's body, like the slashes on his arms and back, the claw marks on his wrists and hands, the rough patches of scars across the soles of his feet.

And the multiple piercings in the creature's head, one in each eyebrow, one between the eyes and another just slightly further down the length of his nose, one in his bottom lip, and a few in each ear. And then the ones further down his body as well. The bars at the back of his neck, ring in his belly button, the ones that marred his manhood. There were casual jokes that he carried enough metal to forge another set of armor for himself… but never told to the Inquisitor's face.

And the way his face had aged, like he was forever angry at something, his brow slightly creased, lines at the corner of his mouth, an angry look in his eyes. Always angry, all day, every day and every waking hour of his life.

And thirdly was his abrasive personality. He often gave people the cold shoulder rather than answer them, and when he did it was in a flat, angry tone that had most people thinking he was going to kill them. He had a habit of pushing people away at the slightest of indications, keeping his heart locked and people far away from him.

He came off as cold, mean, and often a creature that should not have been bothered with.

However, he was a persistent man. And managed to get the Inquisitor to drink with him and Iron Bull. While the Inquisitor was not looking, he slipped a little something into the Inquisitor's drink and waited. Soon after the Inquisitor was deeply drunk and could hardly sit up straight, angry eyes looking more confused and blurry then anything.

He asked softly why the Inquisitor was like he was. And it was a good thing that he had invited Bull, as the Inquisitor drawled out his story in both the Common Tongue and Qunlet, blurry the two together until Bull struggled to keep up. When the Inquisitor finally passed out, still looking rather angry and cold even in sleep, Bul relayed what he heard.

The Inquisitor had once been apart of the Qun, his role was to leash the Saarebas. He did this until he wisened up about the Qun and abusing his own people because they could use magic. He challenged his Arishok to a one on one duel and won, taking the bastard's head and sticking it on a pike. He lead the others that wanted to leave the Qun as well away and to a different life.

They lived peacefully for a few years before the humans attacked them while he and a few of the warriors were away. He came in time for the bruised and freshly tortured non-warriors being trapped in a house that the humans lit fire too. He rushed in in an attempt to free anyone of them, and was pulled out, the last he saw of his friends being a former Saarebas calling out his name. He heard his friend burning alive as he was held back. He freed himself of course, and killed all the humans that hurt his friends before striking out on his own, feeling like a complete and utter failure for not being able to save them.

He lived with this grief for years before he became a merc. He started killing emotions because he did not want to be in so much pain anymore, and soon became a cold hearted bastard. It was better for people to hate him then allow himself the chance to let another friend down that badly. Better to never let anyone in and know that he was a failure that hated himself to no end then open himself up to someone that he would just end up letting down.

And after Bull had retold the story, he helped haul the massive creature to bed. And while Bull went to vomit up all the beer and ale, he sat by the sleeping Inquisitor and just… watched him.

So that was why he distanced himself. He was terrified of losing someone again, he did not want anyone to see the ugly side of his personality. The self hatred, the crippling self doubt, the haunted past, the way he dwelled on mistakes. He wanted to keep it all to himself rather than fall to that pain again. He did not want to lose anyone again.

And he could not help but think… that he wanted to try and prove to the Inquisitor that he would not be killed so easily. He could take anything that the Inquisitor could throw at him and still live to see the next day. He was stubborn like that. He would prove that to the Inquisitor, and worm his way into that locked off heart to get it beating again.

He promised both himself and the Inquisitor this as he bent down and placed a kiss on that angry brown.


	11. My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine

M!Cousland/Ser Gilmore fluff.

Gilmore tries not to lose it after he thinks he lost it all.

* * *

><p>He sat on the ground in front of the chantry, looking at the ground, batting his mind back and forth so it would never settle on something. He was just… idling the day away, trying to avoid thinking about those terrible things… anything but getting stuck in those black and sticky memories. Anything but getting trapped there again-<p>

_You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine_

He tried to think of something more than the cold stone against his body, the blackness of that tiny room, the feeling of his blood slowly leaking out so many wounds, the pain of bones being broken and reset and then broken again.

He needed to think of something light. Something bright and cheerful. Something… the color of the summer sun. Something the color of warmth and happiness. Something that he saw almost everyday. He tried to think of Aedan's blonde hair, blonde from his mother's side and then lightened and colored the colors of the sun in the sky.

When he got older, he got tattoos on his face, weird ones from a Tevinter Merchant. They looked a pale yellow on his pale skin, but slather on a certain plant mixture and suddenly it looked like gold had been painted on his face. He always thought it was an impressive trick to make the tattoos on his face suddenly look like gold, shiny and pretty.

_You Make Me Happy, When Skies Are Grey_

When they were younger, they snuck off to talk about nonsense with just each other. Things that they could not even breath about around his parents and servants. Things that had them giggling like lay sisters, laughing hours away as they forgot about their roles for just a small while.

When they got older, they found the joys of kissing and talked less. He liked running his fingers over Aedan's soft cheeks and through that warm colored hair. Even in the dark underneath the moonlight and the stars it looked like the colors of the sun, warmth in the night as they curled against each other for warmth.

_You Never Know Dear, How Much I Love You_

They both were so dejected when his father found them out and told them to break it off. They could remain friends of course… but if they were caught sneaking around again then his squire status would be torn away and he would be torn away from Aedan forever. And he would have rather been forced to keep him at a distance then never see him again. He could always admire the color of the sun in Aedan's hair from a distance, right?

And now…

_So Please_

He did not even know if Aedan made it out alive. The Tyern dead, his wife gone… but no sign of him. He wished… he wished with every fiber in his body that Aedan got away and that damned hair of his got away as well. He thought of a hundred different scenarios where Aedan got away, playing them out again and again to make himself believe even one. Keep the fantasy that that Aedan was alive somewhere in this Blight taken lands!-

"S-ser Gilmore?"

_Don't Take_

He looked up and felt his throat constrict. The color of warmth, the color of summer skies, the color of happiness and comfort. Pale yellow lines against pale skin. He scrambled to his feet as Aedan stumbled towards him, slender frame loudly clanging in what had to be a pilfered suit of armor.

That little body struck his as they just blindly ran into each other. His hands were on those soft cheeks as Aedan's face scrunched up in tears. He had no idea what he was doing. His nose was in Aedan's hair, smelling the warmth that had to have come from walking all day, moving, his mouth was against Aedan's soft cheek, pressing harsh kisses there like he was having a hard time thinking that this slender body was really here.

Aedan started sobbing loudly, fat tears flowing freely down his face. One of his hands came up to shield the side of his face that was not getting kissed. Not that anyone cared. What was one more crying soul? But at least… he could imagine that these were tears of bitter happiness about seeing him again.

His fingers were in the sun shine, pulling Aedan's head back enough that they could knock foreheads together like they had done after they had sparred… in simpler times. Happier times. And through fresh tears of his own, he managed to force out:

"My lord… I did not think I would see you again"

"Me… either" Aedan sobbed out.

_My Sunshine Away_


	12. Fears

WARNING: M!Adaar/Dorian fluff. There's a clash of ideals and the Inquisitor runs off. Dorian runs to go comfort him.

Do I decided that this gruff Tal-Vashoth Inquisitor will be a different one then the Ashkost in previous chapters. This one, Ashshok, will now only be paired with Dorian and the other will be paired with Iron Bull.

Qunlat Translations:  
>Ash-to seek<br>Kost- peace  
>Shok- War, chaos<br>Vashedan- Trash  
>Bas- Thing, also uselesspurposeless  
>Basra Vashedan- Foreign trash<br>Venask Hol- Wearying One  
>Dathrasi- Pig<p>

* * *

><p>Ashshok and Leliana were fighting again, throwing angry words at one another. Not only that, but they had managed to drag Cullen into it. Now the two were angrily spitting words at the Inquisitor as he roared his own back.<p>

What at first was loud soon turned to complete and utter thunderous sounds as the Inquisitor raised his voice to the loudest that his lungs could manage. And as they found out, the normally soft spoken Inquisitor was hiding a mighty voice. One that had servants too terrified to approach and companions too nervous to try and stop.

Finally, after several tense hours, a roar ripped through Skyhold that made their air freeze in place.

"FINE! I'LL LEAVE THEN"

There was the sound of several things being tossed and a door being destroyed. And then the Inquisitor's heavy steps as he stormed down hallways. He was out his room and tentatively followed the heavy thuds until they it the main hallway, and then realized that Ashshok was heading for the front door of the Skyhold.

And then he was worried. Did Ashshok really mean to leave the Inquisition?

He was scrambling after the great creature, more terrified about the thought of him leaving forever then his rage.

The great doors were shoved open with one arm of the mighty creature. He managed to slip out before the doors bounced back and slammed shut. If only Ashshok's legs were not so damned long and he was not practically running, then it would not have taken the near two miles that it did to catch up. And when he did, he was out of breath as he managed to reach out and grab onto Ashshok's wrist.

Ashshok turned on his heels and glared dark and grisly murder at him for half a second… and then his expression dropped and he looked completely and utterly exhausted. The great creature waited for him to catch his breath, hunched over and a death grip on that huge grey wrist. When he did, he straightened up but refused to let go.

"Why did you follow, Dorian?" He asked gruffly.

"Why did you leave?" He panted.

"..." The scar marring Ashshok's face darkened and he scowled hard enough that the scar pulled back to reveal pointed teeth.

"That vashedan, bas bitch had the audacity to attack me for being part of the Qun" Ashshok snarled, brow furrowing so deeply that the piercing nearly vanished underneath angry grey flesh "Basra vashedan! Venask Hol!"

Noting that he was losing him again, he reached out and took the other grey wrist, forcing the angry Tal-Vashoth to face him. The scar was still pulled back, teeth still bared like an animal, but at least he had pulled back on the Qunlat insults.

"You know Leliana. She loves her little Marker with all her heart, to the point that it blinds her to anything. Including the fact that you have stated multiple times that you are no longer part of the Qun, nor do you believe in or enforce their ideologies" He said calmly, soothing.

Ashshok snorted in disdain.

"And then that cowardly dathrasi came in and the topic moved to magic and mages. As it turned out, we could not agree on that either" Ashshok snarled.

"What did you say?" He asked… curious.

"I said that mages should not be locked up like animals nor treated as such. Let them be free! Kill the ones that unrightly kill others with their magic, punish the ones that use blood magic, but do not kill or abuse the innocent ones. Magic is nothing more than a sword in a different form, why treat it any different?"

He was strangely touched, and slide his grip from Ashshok's wrists to his big hands.

"He told me that I could not trust Vivienne, Solas or you. That one of you would turn right around and betray me, said it would likely be you of the three. And for him to even suggest a thing" Ashshok snarled viciously "I wanted to kill him. I should go back and kill him"

Letting go of Ashshok's hands, he lurched forward and threw his arms around the creature, pressing his cheek against Ashshok's chest. The creature paused, tense like a predator ready to strike. And then he relaxed a small bit, just a little bit, and Ashshok sighed through his nose.

"Bastard… just a terrified child. He was there when the Champion saved Kirkwall… he was there when the Hero of Ferelden saved the Circle. He should know better… Mages are not to be feared, mistreated or misused" Ashshok grumbled "I was a damned Arvaarad and I know this…"

Suddenly two arms wrapped around him and he felt Ashshok's face in his shoulder.

"Why won't people let mages live free?" He muttered quietly "I am… afraid of this fear people of magic, Dorian. I don't want to lose Vivienne, Solas… I don't want to lose you. I've lost so much in my life… I don't want to lose you"

He stroked the big creature's back.

"You won't. Because you're here to make sure that you don't"


	13. The Best Kind of Stories

WARNINGS: Character death, gore.

The Warden has heeded his calling. The Champion has fallen into the temptation of the power in his veins. The Inquisitor has been possessed by the Fade. And this story can only go one way when they meet.

* * *

><p>Blackness…<p>

The Warden Commander's eyes were hollow and dead, reflecting like a cat's eyes in the night. His once tanned skin had been brutally stripped of all color, his tattoos flat against his waxy skin marred with blackened veins. Thin blood clotted with clumps of taint dripped from his thin nose and down to his thin lips.

He carried his daggers as he stumbled across the ruined courtyard. They were stained with the blood of the Darkspawn that he had killed before losing his mind to the Calling, dripping freely in inky rivlets to the rubble and destroyed ground. Before, they thirsted to unleash the rage of their master. Now they were dead with their master, cold and nothing more than sharp lumps of steel.

Redness…

The Champion of Kirkwall's eyes were were glowing pools of pure red, streaming trails of red light behind them. His pale skin never held much color, but now it was a ruddy red from every vein inside of the Champion's skin glowing with raw magical energy. Glowing red blood dripped from deep cuts in his palms.

He carried his staff as he walked calmly across the ruined courtyard. Once wielded by his father, he had used it to defend the weak and protect his friends and family, now he wielded it solely for seeking power. His blood magic had stripped the blood from most every creature he had encountered on his way up the steps, following him in unnaturally floating streams of glowing red blood.

Green…

The Inquisitor's eyes were a vivid sunlight radiant green color, glowing green energies flowing upwards up his brow and into the cold, ashy air. His grey skin was marred with cracks like those you would find in glass, save these cracks glowed like the inside of the Inquisitor was filled with the same light of his eyes. A huge marking on the inside of his left palm that marred its way from hand to shoulder glowed like a green sun.

He carried his massive greatsword as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other across the ruined courtyard. Once wielded while he was a simple mercenary and then to defend the land from the torn Fade, it was now stained with the blood of the Inquisition. Friends, family and his former love, all their blood marked his blade, and that precious blood dripped like dark rain from the black steel surface.

Black, red and green drew closer and closer until they were within arm's reach of each other.

The Warden Commander stared blankly, mouth hanging open stupidly as his dead eyes flicked between the possessed blood mage and the Fade possesed Inquisitor. The Champion of Kirkwall smirked viciously at the tainted Warden and the possessed Inquisitor, eyes glowing even redder with malicious intent. The possessed Inquisitor stared blankly ahead, his glowing green eyes misting out a glowing green dust that floated into the sky.

"Look at us now" The Champion of Kirkwall laughed "Heroes that have killed that was all precious and near and dear to us"

The Warden Commander and the Inquisitor stared blankly.

"Don't think I haven't been paying attention to the blood in the air. Grey Warden, the blood you spilled from your elf lover. Inquisitor, the blood you spilled from your Qunari lover. And the blood I spilled from sweet Fenris' body. All that blood is in the air, now dead and silent, but their dead souls still try and cling to life, I hear their death notes, I hear their sadness and their rage and all the emotions they cling too like fools"

The Champion raised his arms, causing the streams of blood to rise higher and brightened the dead and grey air with their unnatural glow.

"I hear their songs and yet I laugh! My brother dead by my hands, my friends dead by my hands, my lover dead by my hands and it amuses me! The songs of the dead that still cling to the Warden's knives and yet I laugh harder, harder and harder with how the Warden Commander so coldly cut down the man he loved. The songs of the dead that still cling to the Inquisitor's sword and yet I am endlessly amused, harder and harder I laugh as I think of the fight that they put up and how cold the Inquisitor cut them down"

The streams of blood writhed like they were alive and in agony.

"And despite being amused, I am saddened by what I have become! All this power at my fingertips, but everyone I love dead. The Warden Commander now a soulless husk, alone in this world. The Inquisitor a mindless drone of whatever the fuck lays in the Fade, a murderer"

The Champion raised his staff and suddenly the streams of blood shot out like arrows, stabbing into the Warden Commander and into the Inquisitor. Red was quickly eaten by blackness and green, and those dead black and glowing green eyes were tainted with veins of red.

The Warden Commander raised his daggers, aiming one at the Champion's throat and the other at the Inquisitor's throat. The Inquisitor raised his sword with it posed to swing at the back of the Champion's neck. The Champion raised his own staff and aimed it at the Warden Commander's face.

"Gentlemen… I think you would agree with me when I say this is for the best" The Champion smiled, red tears dripping down his face.

The Warden Commander suddenly lurched forward with his dagger, stabbing it into the base of the Champion's neck and then carving out most of the Inquisitor's neck with two swings. While he bled furiously, he shot out a bolt of pure electricity and fire into the Warden Commander's face, blowing off his head in a single move. And he barely had time to see if he had killed the Warden Commander before he felt the slightest brush of steel against the back of his neck and his world dissolved into blackness.

The Heroes of the world… and on the ground they lay dead. The Warden bled black, Hawke bled red, and the Inquisitor bled a bright green.

Perhaps it was best. There was no going back. Even if the Warden had not heeded his Calling, he still had killed all his companions, and would likely kill himself in grief. Even if Hawke had not fallen temptation to the power in his veins, he still killed his family and friends and would have taken his own life in justice. Even if the Inquisitor had not been possessed by the Fade, he had still killed the Inquisition and would have been killed.

If and that, but and or, there was no way for this to have played out different. Because it seemed…

The best kind of stories… were the ones where the Heroes died.


	14. Family and Chaos

WARNING: Slight fluff. Implied M!Mahariel/Zevran, F!Tabris/Leliana, M!Cousland/Ser Gilmore, F!Amell/Alistair.

What if all the backgrounds in Origin were recruited?

* * *

><p>The campsite was a chaotic as always.<p>

Theron was trying to avoid the merriment, shoving a drunk Oghren off of him as the shit faced dwarf started leaning too far to the right. Not that Zevran minded, as the angry elf pressed closer and closer to him. Not that he was spared the wrath when he grabbed said angry elf's ass.

Solona was readying her staff to bash into Oghren's jaw when the dwarf meandered over to her and Morrigan with a dirty glint in his eyes. As the drunk dwarf reeled from the impact, the infamous Ice Queen of the Ferelden Circle adjusted her robes and sipped from her drink as the party went on around her.

Kallian was not one for festivities, never was. But Leliana had fixated long strips of red cloth to her wrists and ankles, and was encouraging her to dance with her. And as much as she hated parties, she did love to see Leliana dance, and let the cloth stream behind her as they knifed through the chaos.

Faren laughed as he hauled Oghren's drunk ass off the ground, thumping his fellow's chest and shoving another cup of mead into his hands. Life of the party he was, Faren challenged Oghren to a drinking contest more for the merriment of those around him. He tried to get Alistair to join him, but could not get the ex-Templar to join in fear of losing. While the two dwarves drank themselves silly, Alistair slipped over to Solona.

Sereda was not one for festivities as well. While she could get pretty wild… that was in happier times for her. So she just sat by Wynne and watched those around her, quietly sipping from a pint of strong ale.

Aedan was a merry child. But that was before his family was stolen from him. So he sat on the edge of camp, stroking the fur on the back of his war dog, looking out into the dark night sky. Eventually he was joined by Ser Gilmore, who watched the night stars with the young lord. Sad souls keeping each other company.

And as much as those that were not exactly merry groused. They all loved the chaos. They were a big disfunctional family, driving each other insane but keeping each other together. And as much as were at each other's throats, they were always there at each other's backs.

They were a big family, and this chaos was always welcomed.


	15. Ser Templar?

WARNING: F!Amell/Cullen fluff

He always admired her, from the beginning to the end

* * *

><p>He always admired her, from his first year as a Templar at the Circle to when she left with the Grey Wardens.<p>

She was quiet at first, so unsure of herself or her prison. She was not strong nor all that good at controlling her magic. She often sat in the libraries and studied over going to classes with everyone else. With her nose always buried in a book, people forgot about her and how she looked.

But he always saw a quiet and kind young girl, with over brimming potential. And when he accidently bumped into her on her way out of the library, he managed to get his nervous lips to mutter a compliment about her study habits. She quietly stared at him; neither confused what to say or searched for something to say. She was… observing him, trying to pick him apart in a fraction of a second. And then she was picking up her books and leaving without a word.

A terrible rumor went about shortly after that she was going to be made Tranquil. They were all lies, as he got word from the First Enchanter's mouth that she was not. She was just not as advanced as the other students, not enough that she needed to be made Tranquil. But they spread like wild fire until they reached her ears.

He saw her sniffling behind her books, rubbing her watery eyes and nose as she tried to focus on studying. He wanted to say something to her, try and soothe her. But his knees shook and his face heated up and his lips failed him. So he had to watch her suffer from afar as she tried to not think about how all the color would be robbed from her eyes and her dreams cruelly stolen.

Finally Gregoir put a stop to the rumors. He gathered all the students and threatened to make Tranquil the mage that started the rumors, as they obviously did not want to be a mage but a gossiping brat. And then he told her it was a lie, that she was not going to be made Tranquil and dispelled the students.

Something changed in her. She sat and stared at the wall in the library, her books down. After a day or two, she was not in the library for a day.

When she appeared again, it was in class. However she had cut her hair into a stylish short cut, painted her eyelids an icy blue and her lips a slightly darker blue. With her icy blue eyes, she looked like a goddess made of ice. And when she was to demonstrate her magic, she pulled out a powerful ice spell that had even the teacher in awe.

Soon after, the Circle mages and apprentices started calling her the Ice Queen. And when she got word of this, she held her head up high and strutted like a queen wherever she went.

She was confident, she was beautiful, and she was powerful. Like a true queen. And he was in jaw dropping awe and adornment of her. If he could not talk to her before, then there was not a chance.

He bumped into her again on her way out of the library, accidently knocking the books out of her hands. He quickly bent down to gather them up. She bent down to help, coolly brushing loose locks behind her ear. He tried to gather his strength and say something to her. His mind screamed for him to say something to her.

"Uh…you" He said.

She looked up indifferently, staring at him. Like the day so long ago.

"Y-you are… a very…uh"

She was trying to pick him apart, pull apart everything happening to read him like a book. All with those cold icy eyes framed by white blonde eyelashes.

"Uh…"

"Ser Templar" She said slowly.

"Y-yes?"

"Why are you stuttering?"

"I...I-I… uhhh"

She smiled, those blue painted lips curving up in a coy and slightly sadistic curve of the lips in a cold mockery of a smile. And then she leaned forward enough to plant a feathery light kiss on his cheek, pulling back with a large smile.

"You're cute" She chuckled before taking her books from him and walking out, leaving him to touch the waxy lip paint on his cheek and wonder what the fuck happened.


	16. Sweet Dreams

WARNING: M!Adaar/Iron-Bull fluff.

Bull doesn't want to admit that he likes the Inquisitor like that, but he would be damned before he doesn't help a man out because he's suffering from some magic. Weird, ass, magic.

* * *

><p>Before, he never considered himself that much of a 'cuddlier'. Flings were fun, but more often the naught he had other things to do and left his temporary lover to lay in an exhausted over fucked mess in a bed somewhere. Not to mention, he did not want to get attached to anything or anyone, what with all the chaos around them.<p>

However… with Ash it was different.

Ash was powerful warrior, but also detached. He sought nothing more in their relationship then he was comfortable with. Love was not a thing, but used to describe they liked the sensations from their couplings. He was, in short, the perfect kind of person he was looking for to have a nice easy physical relationship with.

And thus, felt no need to think too deeply about the many, many times he curled up against Ash after sex. The warmth out of his muscular body and the soft sound of his breathing was soothing and made it far too easy to get cozy with the Tal-Vashoth, far too easy to just sleep soundly with him there.

So it was that after a particular bout of rather intense sex, that Ash was half draped over his body. His head just barely brushed the underside of his jaw, the hard side of Ash's horn stumps occasionally knocking into the corner of his jaw. He had an arm wrapped around Ash's torso. His fingers brushing the heavy scars on Ash's back as he dozed on and off, far too comfortable.

Near morning, he was roused from sleep by Ash moving, like he was trying to get up. Far too comfortable, he used his arm to keep Ash pinned to him, keep his warmth there. There were several rough grunts as Ash fought against his arm, before the Tal-Vashoth flopped on him.

"Bull… I need to get up" Ash grunted, voice rough with sleep.

"But warmth" He muttered playfully.

"Unless you want me to piss on you, I suggest you let me up" Ash grunted out… a tad bit quickly.

"You never know, I might be into that kind of thing" He chuckled.

"Bull" Ash whined.

…There was something wrong. However the threat of getting pissed on made him uncurl his arm from around Ash and let the warm body crawled away from him and then into the washroom in the Inquisitor's room.

He was content with letting Ash take a quick piss and then crawling back into bed… however he did not hear such a thing from Ash. Instead of a moment, there was a muffled, pained grunt and then the sound of someone retching violently.

Tossing the blanket aside, he strode naked into the washroom and saw Ash hunched over the chamber pot, muscles in his back and sides going into stark relief with each heave. And then he saw the intense glowing green light that came from the hand that he knew that weird ass scar sat. The one that could seal breaks in the veil or something.

Was… it causing him so much pain he was vomiting?

Walking over, he bent over Ash, not sure what to do but wanting to do something. He eventually settled on gently gathering up Ash's long hair and pulling it away from the poor creature's face, and then using a free hand to rub Ash's back until the retching eased and faded into miserable hiccupping.

When Ash sat up, he let the long white strands fall and reached for a wet cloth and handing it to the Inquisitor. Ash calmly wiped his face off, expressionlessly ignoring the fact that tears still streamed down his face. When his face was mostly clean, he used the still cool rag and wrapped it around his glowing hand.

Before the green light was muffled, he saw that all the veins in Ash's hand were bulging a near obscene amount and that his fingertips were darker with rushing blood. It looked painful just to look at… so to feel it.

"Do we need to go visit Baldy?" He asked, sitting next to Ash.

Ash looked down at his wrapped hand, arm shaking from the pain still. After a short pause, Ash shook his head. He just sat there, naked and shaking. And just… was something as powerful as the Inquisitor supposed to look so weak and frail? Was something as imposing and large and muscular as Ash supposed to look like he would break from a touch?

"I can go get a potion…"

Ash shook his head.

Well, at least he was still being a stubborn ass. But what was he supposed to do? Just watch Ash sit there and be in sheer agony? It… he could do something… right?

Huffing, he reached out and grabbed Ash's sides. He gave the Tal-Vashoth no time to react before he yanked all of Ash into his lap and wrapped his arms around Ash's waist. He buried his face in Ash's shoulder, holding onto the Inquisitor's shaking body until the shaking stopped and Ash relaxed against him. When he happened to peep at Ash's bound hand, the green light was fading.

"Sorry" Ash croaked, voice still shaking like it was still painful.

"No problem Ash… though I have to ask… is it… is it getting worse?"

Ash looked down at his hand, tugging the cloth away from his hand until it showed the agitated scar on his grey skin.

"…Yeah"

"Any… any idea how to make it better?"

"Stop being the gods damned Inquisitor?"

"Well, if you did that, this shit world would literally fall apart"

Ash chuckled weakly at that. He twisted around and placed a kiss on his forehead, smiling slightly down at him.

"What? Not on the mouth?" He grinned.

"I just threw up"

"You never know, I might be into that kind of thing"

Ash laughed at that.


	17. Grey Hawke

Went scrounging through the DA2 mods on Nexus, and after an hour of wallowing in disgusting whitewashing mods, vile 'make such and such prettier mods' and a metric fuckton of unnecessary nudity mods, I found a mod that applies a Qunari skin over your Hawke. Now I am running around Kirkwall with a mage Qunari and having the time of my life.

Warnings: Language and minor gore. What if Hawke was not in fact Leandra's child, but a Qunari the family picked up years ago? What would everyone think of the Champion of Kirkwall being a Qunari?

* * *

><p>What Malcolm thought:<p>

He found him among a good twenty Qunari corpses, sitting in a lake of blood and guts and looking at the ground with vacant eyes.

He tried rousing the poor creature, recognizing that he was one of those imprisoned Qunari mages by the heavy chains that bound him, the mask that covered his face and the stitching of his mouth. But the poor creature would not respond to him. So he did the only thing he could think of, and freed the creature of the heavy chains, mask and stitching and left him there.

A few days later, he spotted the same Qunari trailing after him at a distance. Eventually he got a chance to close the distance between the two of them and get the creature to trust him and open up to him. They became fast friends, and later he was there to help whisk the love of his life away and to a runaway life.

He loved the creature like a son, and was terribly hurt that he had to go so soon in the life of all his children. But to be holding onto the scarred hand that he had freed as he passed was… soothing to his tired soul.

* * *

><p>What Leandra thought:<p>

She loved Malcolm, and wanted to remain with him. The night of the ball, she found out about his friend. The big Qunari that she had only heard a few whispers about. He was there to catch them when they needed to climb down from a balcony. Malcolm tossed her down and into the big creature's arms while Malcolm cushioned his own landing with a gust of magic.

She had wanted the Qunari to leave shortly as they went on the run, but him and Malcolm were fast friends. And there was no tearing him apart despite all her arguments.

But eventually they got close. She found out that he had been little more than a slave to his people before he had snapped and freed himself and then Malcolm freed him from the bonds that stopped him from moving forward. And when she had to give birth to the twins while hiding in a hut and Malcolm threw the Templers off their trail, he was there to let her crush his hand and then quiet hew new children.

He played with the children like they really were kin, and she found herself calling him her son. And she wished she had not been so gruff their first few years together. And was grateful when he released her from that hellish torment that the blood mage put her through, holding her close and telling her that he loved her and would miss her as she closed her eyes.

* * *

><p>What Gamlen thought:<p>

When Leandra wrote him years ago that they had… 'Adopted' a son into their family, he thought it was just some urchin boy off the streets. When he went to go see them again, ready to smuggle them into the city with unsavory bribes to the right people, he almost had a damned heart attack when he saw that a Qunari was standing with them.

Questioning revealed that the Qunari was that son that they had adopted. Malcolm had picked the big bastard up after finding him among the bodies of his slaughtered kin, and took him on as a son. And the big ox had stayed with them for years and year.

He still could not get over the fact that they had a Qunari for a son, and wondered what exactly he was going to tell his contacts when the boy went on his merry way to take on the contract that would get them into the city. They were certainly in for a surprise that was for sure.

* * *

><p>What Bethany thought:<p>

She had grown up with him, and thought nothing of the big grey creature that she called big brother. She thought it was weird that he was so tall and so muscular, that his skin was grey and that he had horns, that his hair was white and his pupils white while the whites were black. But she had not been taught that anything other than humans were queer and thought nothing of it.

When she was older, she learned of the hatred towards this creature she called big brother. How people yelled and screamed insults and slurs at him, threw rocks and mud, slammed their doors shut and their windows and avoided talking to him. And she did not understand why people could hate such a gentle creature. Even when she learned that her big brother was a Qunari and not in fact related to her, she could not stand the hate.

He helped her harness her magic, he helped her practice spells and revealed to her the ways of losing control and going berserk like any warrior. He attacked Templers that threatened her or the family, knocked away people that grabbed, and stood guard over them when a long day of running left them drained. Protector, brother, teacher and best friend.

When the wrath of their new home threatened to drown him, she willing went to the Circle to appease them. He held her hand as a Templar stood waiting, promising her to break her free one day. And she just smiled, trying not to think that her brother was still trying to protect her when was trying to protect him.

* * *

><p>What Carver thought:<p>

He had grown up with him, and did not really think that his big brother was all that odd. Sure, he was taller than father, his skin was grey, his eyes were weird, and his hair was white like an old man's, but he thought that it was just the way his brother was born. He just thought that his brother was weird looking, but still his brother.

Later, he found out that his brother was not really his brother, and was something called a Qunari. His brother explained that to him that he left his people because they were really mean to him. They cut off his horns and sewed his mouth shut, and made him wear heavy chains and collars and cuffs just because he had magic.

When a group of boys started taunting his brother, calling him mean names and such… he did not understand it. His sister and father were already treated so poorly because they were mages, and it seemed his brother got twice the abuse because of both his race and his magic. And he wondered what would have happened if his brother had been born a human. Surely he would not be tormented so much then?

He could never hate his brother. A group of terrible friends tried to get him to insult his brother, and the betrayed look on his brother face made him cry and beg for forgiveness. He just could not stand the creature that had played soldiers with him, helped him practice with his sword, taught him how to attack and take advantage on the field of battle, and had been hurt by his words.

When the wrath of their new home threatened to drown his brother, he volunteered to go to the Templers to save his brother. His brother had hugged him, smothering him in those large grey arms, and promising that he would break him free. And he tried… tried not to think… that even when he was trying to protect the creature that had protected him for years, was still trying to protect him.

* * *

><p>What Aveline thought:<p>

When a Qunari came out of nowhere blasting magic, she was fully prepared to fight the damned creature off to the end. No one was going to take Wesley from her, no one.

But then he showed himself to be nothing but a fleeing refuge with his family, three humans that probably had adopted him. When Wesley threatened both he and his sister, then he got aggressive. The big creature put himself between his sister and Wesley, growling with sharp teeth and murderous eyes, that he would rip him limb from limb if he touched his sister. Wesley backed off thankfully, and they agreed to travel together to at least try and cut through the Darkspawn.

The Qunari, sliced through Darkspawn like it was his born duty to do so. Dozens fell in wake of his wild and damned near uncontrolled spells. When they got too close, the creature's impressive frame was put to use to literally tear the Darkspawn limb from limb. And it was in the heat of battle that she realized the reason for this creature ferocity. His family… he was protecting his family and he was going to die trying to keep them all alive. She saw this man tackle a ogre and tear into him just to protect his siblings.

She followed him, even after Wesley died by her hand, even when she became Captain of the guard, even when he fought the Qunari, even when he helped the mages, and even when the chaos of the city devoured him. She just threw herself down the maw, ready to use her shield and sword for him.

* * *

><p>What Varric thought:<p>

He had heard about the infamous Hawke siblings making a name with the mercenaries. And he had heard about the eldest sibling being… different from his sibling.

However, he was not prepared for that difference to mean that he was a damned Qunari. Sure, he was not nearly as big as the ones he had seen in his life, he lacked horns and talons, as well as an overall menacing aura that the Qunari oozed like testosterone. That of course, made it hard to approach the Qunari after he had taken back the man's stolen purse.

He was quite shocked when he spoke politely, and with a lovable tinge of humor. Hawke spoke with confidence not menace, mannerism not blunt force, and with an air of humor like a man that had seen some shit in life and was not going to let it get him down, rather than a crazy fanatic that was trying to convert everything to his ways.

And after getting to know him some more, he found himself becoming fast friends with the big lug. He was a family man, a talented mage, an excellent teller of stories and jokes, as well as a good friend to have a pint or two with. Hawke was a good man, even if he was a Qunari.

When it came down to it, he stuck with his friend even into the thickest chaos. And when Kirkwall was burning around them, he followed Hawke's lead to the end and out.

* * *

><p>What Anders thought:<p>

When a Qunari walked into his clinic, he was fully prepared to fight the big bastard to the end. But when the big creature reassured him that he was not a part of the Qun, or at least no longer, he found himself relaxing a bit. And when he showed him the scars left from the rough thread that stitched his mouth shut, that the collar left around his neck, the marks that the heavy cuffs left on his wrist, the scars on the backs of his hand when he lashed out and was punished in return, he found himself pitying the big creature.

He at first thought that Hawke was a beaming example of why his cause was just, why mages should not have been oppressed as they were. But then Hawke told him how he had little to no control over his magic before he met Malcolm because the Qun did not teach control. When he had broken free, he had only meant to painless kill one guard, but his magic went haywire because he could not properly harness it and ended up painfully slaughtering the lot of them.

He still could not properly control his magic and sometimes it flared up and out of his control. Hawke said that he wished he had been properly taught how to control his powers in a place like the Circle, even if it meant being trapped there. At least then he would not hurt his friends and family he if suddenly lost control.

At first he thought it was Hawke's past coming up to control him again, but then realized that he had a point. If Hawke's magic suddenly flared up, it was more or less him that was harmed by it. And to see him writhe because he had taken a lightning bolt, or a fireball, or a shard of ice, because he did not want anyone else harmed by his magic, he could not help but think that Hawke was right in a sense.

Mages did not need to be chained and oppressed, but they did need a formal education to control their Maker given gift. If they were not taught then they would harm themselves or those around him. And with that in mind, he willing followed Hawke into the storm of chaos that he had started.

* * *

><p>What Fenris thought:<p>

His contact told him that he had gotten something good, and to be prepared for a surprise.

He was not prepared for the Qunari that showed up, and wondered who this creature was. When he spoke Qunlat, he responded back in such. And when he asked, Hawke told him that he was Tal-Vashoth. He slaughtered his handler and those that traveled with him, and was then rescued by a kind human. He had been living peacefully with his human family for almost twenty years.

At first, he was not sure what to think. Hawke was a mage, and a former Qun member that should have stayed with the Qun. He should have accepted his role in the Qun and remained chained. But then again… when he got the big creature talking, Hawke freely spoke of being tortured. Daily beatings, starvation, dehydration, unprompted verbal and physical abuse, having his teeth broken, his nails ripped out and his mouth sewn shut and then made to scream.

He thought that perhaps Hawke was exaggerating. But then Hawke showed him the scars. The burn scars, the jagged lines across his back, the neat scars down the length of his arms, the markings around his lips, and even scars along his hips and waist where they had teased him with knives and threatened to cut his genitals off.

He did not want to think that he was wrong… but not all mages were his master. Hawke was kind and saved everyone he came in contact with, he saved innocents and protected those that could not defend themselves. When his magic backfired, he took all of the brunt of the damage to save others. He admitted when he was wrong, and admitted when he saw flaws in other people.

Hawke taught him that he was wrong about all mages, helped him free him from his past. And when the chaos of the city drowned it, and Hawke went head first, he did not hesitate in jumping after him.

* * *

><p>What Merrill thought:<p>

When Hawke showed himself to be the one to take her away, she did not think that he would be a Qunari. Not that she judged him for it, but she expected him to be a lot more mean and gruff with her. She expected him to look sour the entire time and grump and groan and swing a mighty sword around and cleave enemies like wet parchment.

But then he showed that he was kind, and sweet, and thoughtful. While he still did not approve of her blood magic, he did so gentle like and with a well worded argument. He warned her against the uses of blood magic, and how it drew demons to her, and how he was more worried about her safety then the morals of the magic itself.

Hawke was kind and gentle with her, telling her how he escaped his Qun and how he was still learning magic. He told her of then Qunari and she told him of the Dalish. He liked hear her stories about the still surviving folklore, about the blood writing, of how they worked with halla and ironbark. She liked hearing how there was a lot of acceptance with the strict Qun, how no one batted an eye when two men or two women loved each other, just with they used sex for anything other than breeding. How anyone could technically be anything, just that the Qun expected one gender to be better than the other in it. How they worked together for efficiency.

Despite all the lore, and their friendship, he refused to help her fix the mirror. But told her how she was blinded by her need to reclaim her peoples' history. Was reclaiming lost glory really worth her life, or the life of anyone that had been claimed by the mirror or her foolish actions. And while his words did hurt… they held the truth. And she needed to see it.

When Hawke went into the burning fires of the city, she went after the creature that had opened her eyes.

* * *

><p>What Isabela thought:<p>

She was terrified when she first saw him, and thought that he was there to take her to the Arishok. She had kept her distance and watched the big bastard enter the tavern with a group of friends to drink and laugh and smile. And never once did he look at her, or attempt to approach her. And eventually she got curious. If a Qunari was not there to grab her, then what was he there for?

She listened to them talk, and when the Qun was brought up, he was quick into disregarding the comment and make it clear that he had left the Qun years ago. And then she realized that this was just a man trying to get away from those strict assholes. And ventured forth to ask for his help.

He readily volunteered, proving to be a kind and good soul, and continued to help her and consider her a friend. When she walked away with the book… she ran back with it. When the Arishok demanded her life, he fought the big man to save her, and she had no doubt that this creature was nothing like the Qunari that hounded her, and that he was true friend through and through.

She laughed and smiled at him, watched his big back when he was trying to take down hordes of enemies. When he took a blast to the face because his own magic backfire, she was there to laugh it off with him as Anders healed him, there to assure him that it was alright to not be a perfect person as he had done for her.

When the city tore itself apart into chaos, he ventured into the thick of it without hesitation. And she was right there besides him.


	18. Talks

WARNINGS: Implied Male!Hawke/Fenris, Male!Warden/Zevran, and Male!Adaar/Iron-Bull. No smut, minor language.

Just little tibits of banter I thought of to cheer myself up.

* * *

><p>"You know Fenris, there are times that I just want to coddle you, hug you, and tell you everything is going to be alright now" William Hawke said to his Elven lover one day "And there are other times I want to put a knife to your throat and tell you to shut the hell up"<p>

* * *

><p>"Sera, you know how you were telling me the other day that I need to lighten up?" Ashkost said as they took shelter behind a rock "I have decided that today is that day"<p>

Walking out from behind a rock, Ash grabbed a bandit and lifted him off his feet before pointing towards another bandit

"Imma beat that motherfucker with this motherfucker!"

* * *

><p>"Say, Theron, I heard that the Dalish tattoos mean something" Alistair ventured as their little group went out shopping one day "What do yours mean?"<p>

"They are tribute to the god of vengeance, Elgar'nan" Theron said stoically.

"…Fitting"

"Come again? Is that god of worship telling me I need to obey his whims?" Theron said, approaching Alistair with raised hands "I think I shall listen to the voices in my head this time around. Come Alistair, let us pray together"

* * *

><p>"So… let me get this straight" Vivienne said as she listened to Varric spin his tales for the night "We had a gay Hero, a gay Champion, and now a gay Inquisitor"<p>

"Ah, actually, from what I understand" Leliana quickly spoke up, a throbbing vein in her temple at odds with her sweet smile "The Hero did indeed have a preference for men, however the Champion of Kirkwall had a preference for both men and women, and our dear Inquisitor is demisexual"

"…Really?"

"Yeah, Hawke totally had the hots for Isabela too; just Fenris had more appeal for some reason" Varric grinned "And Grey over there…"

"I have trust issues" Ash quickly shot out, not looking up from his reports, not even for Bull who was affectionately nuzzling his neck "I need to trust someone before I can look at them in a sexual manner"

"I guess it's true what they say, about one learning something new every day"

* * *

><p>"So, Theron, is it true what I hear about you elves?" Sten asked "That you are… plucky?"<p>

"…Plucky? Is that what they're calling it?"

"…Oghren will not shut up, and is too fearful too approach after last week's… incident"

"Ah…Then yes, we are exceptionally 'plucky'. We breed like rabid animals in heat, and birth litters of other elves. And since we hide in the wilds, you never know how many there are. There is an entire army that is just multiplying by the hour. Like rabbits, but with fancy tattoos, bows and sharper tongues"

"…There is the reason I respect you, kadan"

"I wonder if I can get Zevran onto this as well"

* * *

><p>"So, Hawke, I've got to ask" Varric ventured "You and Broody…"<p>

"What? Jealous? Oh, poor Varric baby, I told it could never be"

"Alright, ass" Varric chuckled "But I got to ask, why Broody?"

"Well, I need a lover that has good looks"

"You can say the same about Rivain, Blondie and Daisy"

"That much is true. But I also need someone that can look out for my back in battle"

"Again, the same could be said about the others"

"I also need someone with character, and not just a raging psychotic streak"

"Hmm… Well, there is always Rivain still"

"I also need someone to pound me into a hard surface until I can't think straight, pull on my hair and make me beg for it like I'm a dirty slut"

"…"

"And I have left Varric speechless. I shall check that off the list of things to do. Now I just need to get Carver to blush with embarrassment. I think I have a letter that I can send him that will get confiscated and read aloud…"

* * *

><p>"Hey sweet thing, come here often?" Bull drunkenly chuckled in Ash's ear.<p>

"Nice try kid, I'm forty-seven" Ash said, trying to keep from toppling over with Bull as he swayed.

"…Come again?" Bull choked.

* * *

><p>"I have a question for Ashshok" Cole ventured.<p>

Ashshok opened his mouth to speak only for Ashkost to quickly snap

"Think on what you say wisely, brother"

"Always, my dear brother. Now, what can I answer for our neighborhood friend of the Fade?"

"You and Ash are brothers, right? Which one is the big brother?"

"Big, as in bigger or older? Size wise, we actually are the same. He's got mass while I got height and reach. Age wise, Ashkost would actually be the oldest"

"Really, how much older?"

"A few seconds, he came out of the womb first"

"First… but that would mean" Dorian ventured.

"We're twins" Ashshok grinned "But more than that actually! Brother, take off your pants!"

"…what?"

Ashshok quickly yanked down the side of Ash's trousers before pulling down the side of his own and bumping his hip against Ash's side, revealing a mirror scar on their hips.

"We used to be connected at the hip" Ashshok grinned "Always together"

"Oh gods, stop it" Ash sighed, pulling up his pants.

"But we used to be so close" Ashshok laughed.

"Stop it"

"And ruin the connection we once had?"

"I fucking hate you"

* * *

><p>"Maker's breath, what is that smell?"<p>

"That would be Oghren; I thought it would be wise to give him a flask of ale. And then he found out it was flammable" Theron sighed.

"…Is that hairless dwarf following us Oghren then? Maker I thought we just picked up another stray"


	19. Love Me or Not

WARNING: Male!Tal-Vasoth OC/Dorian fluff. Mild langauge and implied after sex.

Request for Dorian being comforted/being fluffy with his lover from Ao3. Not sure about Ashshok being 'cute' in terms of appearance, but I do like to think that Ashshok is protective of Dorian and their interactions being 'cute'.

* * *

><p>He once thought Ashshok shallow and selfish. The man had gone around prodding the Inquisition until his brother lashed out at him, and he still had a habit of prodding until a desired reaction was taken. Hell, he only started messing around with the former pirate because he just wanted a physical relationship and nothing more.<p>

And he was fine with that… until he found himself yearning for the touch of a devoted lover. A hug, a tender kiss on the cheek, someone to hold hands with, to share a good story with, someone to be tender and loving with him. Ashshok never did these things. He was always pestering people, and it seemed what time they did spend together was fucking. Ashshok never mentioned anything about a deeper relationship and did not seem interested in one.

He thought about getting the Inquisitor to ask his brother about them, to see if it was going anywhere, but found himself losing heart when he saw the Inquisitor making things work with Bull. Those two had a loving relationship out of a shallow physical one and he found himself jealous of those two. Could he not have something like that?

One night, he woke from a terrible nightmare. His doubt made him lose his guards, and demons had urged him towards the Fade where their whispers could be heard the clearest. They offered terrible but tempting things, things that almost made him cave, and he surfaced from the Fade breathing quickly and shaking from free of how close he had almost lost himself.

He tried to quiet his breathing, lest he disturb the former pirate in his bed, but the fear overcame him and sobs broke out. And his sobbing woke Ashshok.

"Dorian?" He grumbled, scratching along the long scar alongside his face.

He could not quiet the sobbing, and ended up burying his face in his hands just to hide his tear stained face. If Ashshok saw it, the ass would just mock him for

The big body moved next to him, sitting up and then two large arms were around him and pulling him against a muscular chest. He was not sure what to think as he was tenderly held. This was not like Ashshok at all…

"There, there" Ashshok yawned "I'm here"

This was not like Ashshok at all.

He managed to quell the crying to miserable hiccups and forced out

"If you're just trying to get sex, stop it"

"Huh? Why would I be doing that?" Ashshok said sleepily "I don't fuck anyone that had just cried or is crying. Too awkward"

"Then let me go"

"Are you going to be alright then?"

"What has gotten into you?!"

"Sorry?" Ashshok asked, letting him go.

"Why the tender treatment suddenly? Why so nice if not just trying to get something out of me? That's not your style" He snapped at the sleepy Tal-Vashoth.

"…Dorian" Ashshok said firmly, getting his attention "Haven't you noticed that I've always nice to you?"

"…what?"

"When I was trying to piss my brother off, did I do anything to you?" Ashshok said, crossing his arms "Did I taunt you, call you a name, prod you about something, insult you?"

"…No"

"Have I ever done anything that would be considered cruel or mean to you?"

"…No"

"What could that mean?"

"You want sex from me" He muttered.

"…And here I thought you were smart. Gods above Dorian, I love you"

That gave him pause. Love was not a word that Ashshok even let his brother hear. So why was he suddenly…

"Lies" He said weakly.

"Dorian, I have a hard time putting love into something because I am sure that I will lose it like everything else I have ever loved in my life. My friends in the Qun when I killed the Arishok, my crew, my brother for the longest time, they were all taken from me. Recently I got my brother back, and then I found you"

Big grey hands came up to his face, rough thumbs rubbed underneath his eyes to catch stray tears.

"I am… hesitant to put love into something because I expect everything to be taken away from me" He admitted, voice low and gruff "So I am sorry if I don't gush over you because you are protected by your magic, by the others, by my brother and the Inquisition. I know you will not be taken away easily… but still"

He was pulled in close again.

"If you want… I'll do that mushy, gushy lovey shit with you. But you have to promise to stay with me then. Because if I have to go down this road again, you best be staying with me" Ashshok muttered.

"…"

He wrapped his arms around Ashshok, burying his face into the big lug's chest.

"Brother, mind telling me why you've been so nice to Dorian lately?" Ashkost asked his brother when they were alone"

"Because I can"

"…I was just wondering because if you're doing it just to get more sex out of him, I am going to kill you"

"It's not that" Ashshok quickly shot out.

"…I see" Ashkost said simply before laying a hand on his brother's shoulder "Congratulations then brother. This road to healing is hard… but worth it"

"…So we can heal after what we've been through… thank you brother"

"Keep him safe, keep him happy, and never let him go brother"

"I swear"


	20. Talks pt 2

Stupid banter bits to avoid working on requests. And I will give all the internet cookies if you got what the brothers are dressed up as.

PS Happy Halloween everyone!

* * *

><p>"Oh Ash?" Bull purred into the Inquisitor's ear as he was dent over reports<p>

"Yes, Bull?"

"Do you want to…" Bull paused to press a kiss to Ash's temple "Ride the bull?"

"…By the gods Bull" Ash sighed.

"No? Then something else perhaps? Scales the Wall? Grey the Grey Warden? Tame the Lion? Find the Seeker? Shine the Chrome-dome?"

"Fucking hell" Ash sighed, burying his face in his hands.

* * *

><p>"Inquisitor, this is the Hero of Ferelden" Cassandra said, holding a hand towards the angry looking Dalish elf.<p>

"Inquisitor" The elf said.

"Warden-Commander" Ashkost said back.

"Well…What do you want to ask the Warden-Commander?" Cassandra pushed.

The two creatures stared at each other for a moment, the silence tense and heavy to the point of suffocation. And then Ash broke the silence.

"How against are you against being tossed into enemy ranks?"

"Do I get to cause mayhem?"

"Lots of it"

"Not very then"

"Good, I have a friend that I must introduce you to"

* * *

><p>Snow fell onto the ground, laying out a thick blanket within a few hours. And seeing the opportunity, the Inquisition was outside and playing in the frozen slush. While Iron-Bull, Sera and Dorian started building a massive snowman, they saw that the Inquisitor had opened his window and was watching everyone play from his room.<p>

"Hey, hey!" Sera called.

Ash looked down and waved back at them, acknowledging them.

"Come down! Come down!"

He tilted his head to the side.

"Oh come on! Don't you want to build a snowman?"

Ash slammed the window shut.

* * *

><p>"Why are we dressed up like this?" Dorian asked.<p>

"It's a holiday, I figured that everyone would enjoy it" Sera said, bouncing around in black mage robes.

Cole phased into the room, hiding underneath a white sheet, startling several citizens that wondered Skyhold, before disappearing with a small giggle. Cassandra just sighed while Varric laughed, both dressed up like the Champion of Kirkwall. Blackwall laughed, making the fake fur of his werewolf costume bounce as he watched Iron-Bull flex in his impressive Arishok costume. Solas did not join in dressing up, but sat on the side with a needle and thread to fix anything that ripped.

"What are the brothers supposed to be? Twins?" Dorian asked as Sera shoved him into a red coat.

"Uh… not sure"

Ashshok was wearing a pink headband, as well as a black shirt, ripped up trench coat and trousers, with a pipe sticking out of his mouth. His costume was finished off with the chains and collars that he had worn before his brother saved him from execution.

Ashkost was wearing a beige button up shirt, brown trousers, boots and a fur lined coat. His look was completed with beaded bracelets and braids in his hair.

"We're not twins"

"We are not twins"

* * *

><p>"So you and the elf, eh? I bet I know which one is the girl in your relationship" Gamlen chuckled.<p>

"…Oh no… I did not think anyone would find out" William suddenly muttered, sounding terrified "How did you find out Uncle?"

"…Huh?"

"I mean, what would the neighbors say if they found out I was a bottom? Dear Maker the rumors that would fly!" William said, dramatically putting a hand to his forehead, much to the amusement of Isabela and Varric but to the horror of Fenris "My reputation is ruined!"

"I didn't"

"I'm sorry I like taking it up the ass like a bitch, but it you never know pleasure until you have someone pulling on your hair, holding you across a table and pounding your brains out until you're screaming in ecstasy!" William dramatically declared as Isabela and Varric ended up on the floor laughing and Fenris and Gamlen turned blood red "Now everyone shall know because the brightest man in Kirkwall has figured it out"

"…"

"…You gonna stop perving on my relationship now, Uncle?" William asked.

"Never again"

"Good. Lovely seeing you again, Uncle. We really should do this again" William chirped.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, what are you two supposed to be?" Sera begged.<p>

"Not really sure, you'll have to ask Ashkost"

"Wait, you're not…ugh!" Sera grumbled before storming over to the other twin.

"…Nice, Ash" Bull grinned, wrapping an arm around Ash's waist.

"I really don't know what this costume is supposed to be, I just know that Ash was highly amused when I agreed to dress up as it" Ashkost sighed "It is probably something perverted, as far as my luck goes"

"…Hey, want to satisfy the demands of the Qun later?" Bull asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"…You and your pickup lines"

"Did it work?"

"…Maybe"

* * *

><p>"Hey sweet thing, come here often?" Bull chuckled in Ash's ear.<p>

"I thought we've been over this bull. I am too fucking old for pickup lines, so please, stop using them"

"Really? Because you don't look a day over gorgeous"

"Oh my fucking gods"

* * *

><p>"Get Anders!" Hawke cried out, holding a hand over his bleeding side<p>

"I'm right here!" Anders snapped, holding a healing spell to Hawke's side.

"Get Anders!" Hawke cried.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Bull, hold still" Ashshok grinned.<p>

"Why?"

"Just do it"

Holding still, Bull had a long piece of thin rubber tied between his horns. When it was secure, Ashshok took a small jar of something, braced it against the piece of rubber, pulled it back and let it fly. Then quick as a flash, had the piece of rubber detached and was running away.

And then the scream rang out.

"WHO THE FUCK JUST THREW A JAR OF BEES AND WASPS AT ME!?"

* * *

><p>"Get it out of your system" Ash sighed as Sera impatiently stared at him.<p>

"Did you ride the bull? Did he bolster you inquisition? Did he grey you a shade greyer? Did he satisfy the demands of the Qun? Shank your Jory? Establish his canon setting?"

"…"

"Ah, come on! These are funny you big grey prude!"

"…You missed the best one though"

"Ah, yeah?"

"Did he put the dragon into my age?"


	21. Pain

WARNING: Implied M!Adaar/Iron-Bull. Character death, implied suicide, slight gore.

Ash's condition grows worse, putting him through agony before his mind breaks underneath it all. And there is only one release from that pain.

* * *

><p>"Inquisitor?"<p>

Ash's eyelids stirred briefly before cracking open to stare blankly at the spirit. The stare of a dead man, of a weak man, of a man in death's embrace, a man sick and dying. It was not the steady gaze of a strong and resilient warrior that Cole had come to know. It was not the normal gaze of his friend.

He bent down closer to the warrior, sitting down and limp like a dead body. His hand hesitantly raised as though to touch him, a brief memory of Ash flinching away from him crossing his mind, before he reached out and touched Ash's cheek. It was sweaty and clammy to the touch, and cold.

Ash was not well.

"Ash?" He asked softly.

He grabbed Ash's shoulder, causing Ash's head to limply roll to the side. The side of his neck was revealed and a light green cracking along his grey neck, pulsing like a weak heartbeat.

* * *

><p>"You were hiding this?!"<p>

Ash pulling his shirt on, the thick material hiding the network of green cracking that spanned from his wrist to his elbow, to his shoulder and then across one pectoral and his neck. He stiffly did up the buttons and brushed his hair back from the collar to lay it flat.

"Inquisitor!" Cassandra snapped.

"It hardly bothers me, and does not affect my mind nor my combat skills, so why bother?" He said firmly.

The door to the healing room was kicked in, being knocked clear off its hinges and then two large creatures pushed through.

"Brother?" Ashshok panted.

"I am fine Shok, you need not worry-"

Bull rushed forward and ripped Ash's shirt back open, showing the cracking along his chest and neck again. Ash looked to the side, ashamed as Bull took in the deformity with a wide eye. A large hand hesitantly reached out and touched the skin, feeling the slight divots that the cracks left in the skin.

"When?" He gruffed.

"…The last rift that we closed" Ash muttered as Ashshok leaned around Bull's big frame to see the damage "I felt pain afterwards and when we returned to Skyhold, I saw the cracking had traveled from the marking across my hand then up to my wrist… and it's just been growing worse"

"Why?"

"Because…" Ash's voice trailed off "I did not want to worry anyone"

"To damned late for that!" Bull snapped.

"…I am sorry…"

Ash's puppy eyes won him over and they let him go with a warning not to hide any worsening with his condition.

* * *

><p>"Ash?"<p>

Ash stared blankly out at the forest, propped up against a tree. The bandages wrapped around his head, neck and hand barely hiding the intense green glowing hiding underneath. His condition had only gotten worse over the last few days, the cracks growing farther spread and deeper and wider. Ash was hardly present mentally anymore, his mind wondering to gods knew where and usually only brought back with loud noises or harsh physical movement.

"Ash?"

When he was around, he was constantly in agony from whatever was happening to his body. He vomited, sweated and screamed in pain, curled up in dark corners where the cracks glowed like a green sun was inside of him.

"Ash… please?"

Ash's head turned towards him, his good eye looking up at Bull and the one that was corrupted glowing quietly underneath the bandages.

"…Ash?"

* * *

><p>"Kadan!"<p>

The cracking had fallen taken over. Whatever power that Ash normally drew power from had destroyed his mind and he had slaughtered most of the Inquisition. No there was only the two left, and Ash was still not responding to his calls. A cut on his arm bled deeply.

"Kadan! Please! Come back to me!"

Ash was glowing like a green sun was inside of him, trying to break the shell that he had become to get out. He heard the whispers of demons and spirits seeming pouring from Ash's broken skin and his hollowed out eyes.

"Please kadan! I can't fight you, you know that! Please… don't do this…"

Ash was coldly walking towards him. His face was devoid of emotions. His blade dripped with the blood of the Inquisition.

"…Kadan…please…"

Ash lifted his blade.

* * *

><p>He held Ash's broken body in his arms, watching the sun rise on the bloodied Skyhold. Ash's skin was marred with black cracking, whatever holding him fleeing with his death. The massive chunk of his neck that he had cut out himself did not bleed, whatever magic drying his body of blood.<p>

Ash's words haunted him as he walked over to the edge of the cliff carrying his kadan in his arms.

"I'm not hurting anymore"

And there was only cure for his own pain, he thought as he took the last step and fell off the cliff into the jagged stones below.


	22. Expecting the Inquisition

WARNING: Implied M!Adaar/Iron-Bull, M!Tal-VashothOC/Dorian, future implied F!Cadash/Blackwall, F!Trevelyn/Sera

Some ideas for some other Inquisitors I would like to do.

* * *

><p>"Inquisitor, may I present to you, the first to the Lavellan clan, Black-Thorn Lavellan" The servant said, motioning towards the dark haired elf in wild robes and carrying a rough staff of wood and rough cut gems.<p>

The dark haired elf scowled harshly, but bent his head in greeting.

"Greetings, First" He said with a dip of his own head.

"Inquisitor, this is heir to the Trevelyan family, Evelyn Trevelyn" The servant said, motioning to the icy blonde woman wearing heavy armor and carrying a shield and sword bearing her family's crest on the face and hilt.

The woman regarded him with a keen eye before dipping in a graceful bow.

"Greeting, milady" He said with dip of his head.

"Inquisitor, may I present to you ah…"

"Don't get shy now, laddie. Introduce us"

"This is… a well regarded member of the Carta, Mica Cadash" The servant said, motioning to the young dwarf woman in leather armor and carting around a rather thick bow.

"Greetings, miss"

"Aye, good to meet you too, Inquisitor"

"It will be a pleasure to work with you in the future, as well as getting to know the Dalish elves, the noble humans, and the houses associated with the Carta" He said pleasantly.

"Right… right"

"Why not, Grey?"

"Uh huh…"

Scowling harshly himself, he asked the servant to fetch the rest of the Inquisition. Within a moment, the rest of the Inquisition arrived.

"This is Black-Thorn, Evelyn, and Mica, they will be joining the Inquisition" He told his friends.

And suddenly there was a tugging on his pant leg, looking down he saw Mica eyeing the gathered Inquisition.

"Oi, Grey, who's the good lookin' fella with the beard?"

"Ser Blackwall, a Warden that has agreed to help the-"

"I mean, anyone's climbing that wall?"

"…No, have fun"

"Nice to meet you lot!" Mica said loudly before brazenly stomping forward to greet everyone and likely introduce herself to Blackwall.

There was another tugging, but this time on his sleeve. It was Evelyn, biting her lip as she looked at everyone.

"Blonde elf"

"Sera, she… she is indeed single and is indeed only looking for another woman"

Evelyn brushed past him, walking with a strut as she walking into the throng of people.

Sighing, he looked back at the black haired elf.

"And do wish to know about anyone in particular?"

"Nah, I have a feeling that the big guy and the mage with the bitching 'stache is already taken" Black-Thorn sighed, be went to greet the others regardless.

Ash sighed before kneading his temples with the heels of his palms. The Inquisition was going to be a lot more interesting with the latest additions. Which meant that he was going to have quite a few more headaches now.


	23. Beads and Charms

WARNING: M!Tal-VashothOC/Dorian. Fluff.

A spot of fluff to make myself feel better. I was exposed to a lot of spoilers today about Inquisition... just damn. I mean, a few make me very happy, like the Iron-Bull stuff and learning about Hawke and my Warden... but I worry about a lot of other characters now and my own and just... I need to the game to come out something bad before I lose my fing mind.

* * *

><p>He had no idea that he found dreadlocks attractive until Shok came around, and after getting all cozy with him, he found himself rather enthralled with the man's hair.<p>

White, wiry follicles neatly tired together in hundreds of thin locks that were decorated with shells, beads, bands and the occasional feathers from his time as a pirate. The array of textures was a delight to his fingers as he ran them through them.

He loved to run his fingers over the tiny seashells that were woven neatly into the locks, the shiny little shells, the rough twisted conches, the flat white thing that nearly matched his hair, and the small bits of colorful rock like things that had to be corral. He liked to run his fingers over the beads, the rougher, older ones that were faded by the sea air and water, and the smoother, newer ones that gleamed with brilliant color. The fluffy feathers of sea birds, the long elegant feathers of exotic birds on what had to be islands where he traveled.

One lazy afternoon, why Ash went exploring for the Inquisition with the others, Shok and him were outside to absorb some of the afternoon sun. He sat against the trunk of a tree, with Shok's head in his lap, eyes closed as he dozed slightly. He ran his finger through Shok's hair, touching the beads and feather and little shells until Shok's eyes flickered open.

"Kadan" Shok purred.

"Yes?" He grinned back.

"I didn't realize that you liked my hair so much" He grinned.

"It has its charms" He smirked.

"Yeah, pirate life 'll do that if you keep long hair" Shok grinned "I've been thinking about taking a few out though, old things and such. But if you like them so much…"

"Do whatever you like, it's your damned hair"

"Oh, but if I take some out, I'll just have to add more. And what better person to help add more charms to my hair but my lovely kadan?"

"Not sure I know a lot of charms for hair…"

"Nothing fancy in Tevinter?"

"Plenty, but nothing quite you"

"Oh?"

"Oh yes, I would need something quite rough on the outside, but quite endearing overall. Something tough, so not to damper your masculinity…"

"Please, I'm not a Nancy like some men. I don't need to be overly tough just because I'm scared about my sexuality"

"Still, it would fit your dashing looks" Dorian teased "And something with history, because of the history that shaped the creature that you are"

"I'll agree with that" Shok laughed.

"Perhaps I have a few things in mind, if you won't mind a few of them being from me"

"Are you kidding, I would love if they were from you, kadan" Shok purred.

"On one condition though" Dorian grinned "I want to see your hair down and completely unbraided first"

"It's a lot like Ash's, you're not missing much"

"I don' want to picture Ash's hair, I want to see yours" He smiled, brushing his fingers down the length of the scar that marred Shok's face "Please?"

"Damn the puppy eyes, my one weakness… fine!"

"Love you Ashshok" He smiled.

"Same here, kadan" Shok grinned.


	24. Threads of Pain

No warnings apply. Mentions of abuse and torture.

Cole can feel pain of those around him. When he is suddenly drawn to the Inquisitor, he finds that Ash has a dark wish.

* * *

><p><em>Hurts and hurts and hurts, white hot slicing, deep inside the muscle and bone. Rusty chains, blood talons and teeth, stitches across thin lips, dead eyes popping out of cow masks.<em>

He was fading into the Inquisitor's room before he knew what he was doing.

_Pain in my head, pain in my heart, my hands hurt, my nails hurt, my nails hurt, my hands hurt. Pain, pain, pain, pain and more pain. A fist connecting with a jaw. Wet cracking. Not coming from him. Cow mask breaking, tearing the flesh of the face open and leaving a festering wound. Dead cattle left in the dirt like they were less then it._

Ash was in bed, thrashing violently, his grey face dotted with sweat. He leaned over Ash, touching his cold and clammy cheeks. He grabbed the wide grey shoulders and shook them as hard as he could, trying to wake Ash.

_Chains slithering from his hands, finding necks with ease. He kept finding necks, hearing them scream and crack and he hated it. The noise, the terrible noise that rang in his ears and dug in like ticks in his brain until it rotted in his skull._

"Ash, Ash!"

_He screamed as loud as he could, trying to break the silence in his ears. Break the screams trying to worm their way in. He screamed and screamed and screamed until he made himself deaf._

"Ash!"

_He wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die._

"Ashkost!"

_He wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die._

"Ash! Ashkost! Arvaarad!" He pleaded.

_End the pain, please, end the pain_

He could feel the want to reach for his daggers. It would be a clean cut, quick and painless. Ash would never feel pain again, but never wake from his nightmare. But the pain would end. Ash would be free of these nightmares that plagued them both.

"Inquisitor! Inquisitor!" He practically screamed.

_I want to die_

His hands were at his ears, white pale things against his dead skin. The sounds were too much. Ash's mind was hurting too much his soul was hurting too much. And despite being a Qunari, he had a feeling that Ash was dreaming and seated firmly in the Fade. And the screams in the distance from the Fade as demons tried to worm their way into Ash's head. It hurt too much to stand!

_I want to die_

He had a feeling he had fallen to the ground, holding his ears, screaming as well. The noise, the noise, all the noise.

Eventually, someone came. Their noise faded into the noise shoving itself into his ears. They managed to shake Ash awake and then the noise faded and so did he, blissfully becoming less and less until the pain stopped.

* * *

><p>Ash found him in the tavern, approaching him with gentle eyes. Liquid gold against ink and kinder then he had ever seen the creature's eyes. And he felt… shy underneath the gaze.<p>

"Cole…are you alright?"

"Yes" He said simply.

"You… felt my pain? Earlier today as I slept?" Ash asked.

"…Yes. I felt the pain from where I hid. I saw images. Chains, cow masks, blood and talons and bruises and broken bones. I… didn't know it was you, I just followed the pain instinctively. I thought it was a solider… not you"

"You saw my nightmares?"

"Yes… I saw your pain, Ash. And… how do you deal with it? It was so great, so deep and wide spread. The images themselves were horrifying" He asked, rubbing his hands together nervously "And there was so much noise, so much pain, all inside one big man"

"…I cannot, as you saw" Ash admitted "I continue to hurt to this day. My dreams haunt me when they are around, and I constantly remember the pain"

"They fester like open wounds in your soul" He said, not sure how to word it, but trying to help his friend "Like rusty nails stuck inside flesh wounds, scraping across the skin and flesh while pain just pours freely"

"And they shall forever, but I shall try and live for another day, and maybe one day the infection will simply die off" Ash said "Until then I can only do what I can with this sickness inside of me"

"…I know it will be meaningless to anyone else… but if the pain is too much… if you ever want to end it painlessly… I will end it for you"

"I know, it's one of the many reasons I keep you with me" Ash smiled sadly.


	25. The Dance

WARNING: Isabela/Merrill, implied Male!Hawke/Fenris. Fluff

She can't cheer Hawke up, but she can cheer up a certain down Dalish Elf. And who know's, maybe she'll learn something new in the process

* * *

><p>It was a rowdy evening in the Hanged Man.<p>

Most everyone was celebrating the death of the blood mage that had stalked their streets for years before Hawke killed him for harming his own mother. And while everyone was celebrating around the Champion, said infamous apostate's blonde head was on a table and a powerful drink in one of his hands. It was the wise decision of everyone there to leave him alone, so the party raged on around him while the barkeeper and his girls kept his glass full and Fenris kept him company.

As she stole a drink from a serving girl, she looked over at the pretty ex-slave and gave a jerk of her head towards Hawke when green eyes met hers. Fenris shook his head and patted Hawke's back, showing the complete lack of responce. After a moment of watching, the pretty mage lifted his head enough to take a hearty swallow of his drink and then went back to laying on the dirty table. Still just as miserable as when he walked in, perhaps just now drunk atop everything else.

Let the man wallow, he had just lost his mother to blood magic and everyone had already forgotten about the latter bit. He had earned the right to drink his suffering away for evening. Let the healing begin tomorrow at the earliest, when the memories were not as sharp and his mother was buried in the ground with only her own damned body parts.

In the mean time, there was someone that she could cheer up. A dainty little elf girl at the main counter, staring dejectedly at the chipped, wooden cup in her curled hands while people bustled around her. Occasionally, the barkeeper would pause taking orders to fill her glass with this weak red colored liquid before smoothly returning to his orders. Leaving Merrill alone with all the noise and bustle around her.

Merrill always did seem out of place in the city. Wither it was her ears, the garbs or the tattoos, poor Merrill always stood out against the dirty stone city like a green thumb. Like a virgin on a ship of seasoned sailors. Like a white fluffy cloud against a storm. And she seemed just as out of place now as she always did, the wilting daisy among the dull, drunken rubble of Kirkwall. One of the few tavern goers that was not joining the festivities because they were present for the blood mage's demise, and consequently, witness to his horrific experiments to innocent women.

Swaggering over to the poor thing, she clapped the elf on the shoulder and gave her a smile when those big, innocent eyes looked up at her.

"Oo-oh, Isabela... h-how do ya do?" Merrill muttered, almost to herself.

"Just fine. No one has been counting drinks, keeping tabs on tabs and letting people have fun. No here's a real kicker, how are you, Kitten?"

"F-fi-fine, I suppose. The man behind the counter is giving me juice for free, but I have to stay up here"

Cocking an eyebrow at the greasy, burly man, he just shrugged.

"Like having a flower up here" He muttered.

Shrugging the man off, she noted the smell of the juice drifting potently from Merrill's cup. Smelled like overripe cherries and sour oranges. Had to be that cheap pressed stuff that he put into drinks so that he could overcharge for the piss cheap, rat piss alcohol he served. Made drinks way too sweet in her opinion, so to drink it straight was slightly impressive. Then again, it was the embodiment of sugary sweetness drinking it.

"Come on, Kitten. Enjoy yourself tonight, we won" She said sweetly.

"I-I will, soon" Merrill muttered.

"I know sweetness, you saw something awful, something terrible, but-"

"Hawke hates me" Merrill blurted out "You should have seen the look on his face when Mistress Hawke-!" Merrill paused to bite her tongue before looking down at her drink. "A-am I a terrible person, Isabela?"

"... No, never. Don't think too much about what Hawke says or does over the next few weeks or so. He's rightfully mad and hurt and he's going to lash out at everyone" She said.

"But... but..." Merrill trailed off, the silence deafening over the massive din of the tavern.

Sighing through her nose, she mulled over what to do next when a few drunken tavern goers managed to gather enough coherency to play a few home made instruments. A jaunty tune started up, something that she knew well.

"Come on, Kitten" She said, tugging the little elf to her feet and then dragging her to a clear enough spot on the floor.

"W-what?"

"I'm going to teach you a traditional dance from my homeland" She said.

Merrill stood wide eyed at her as she directed the bewildered girl's hands to her waist and then the other clasped in one of her own hands. Looking up at her, she just smiled at the girl before directing her body with her own. She stumbled for a solid five minutes as they twirled. Around and around, until her dainty feet caught themselves and she actually started dancing along. Merrill looked at her feet, surprised that they were doing something graceful for once, watching as she marched them from one side of the tavern to the other, twirled her round and round, dragging a far too thin thigh up to rest on her hip so that she could dip her down low.

After that, Merrill started to move with her. Clumsy at first, steps fumbled here and there, the grip too tight on her waist, almost losing her in a dip. But she started to move with her, fluid and grace like she had never seen from Merrill before, large eyes blown wide with excitement and her face flushed with life as her heartbeat pounded away. When she twirled, she was not too stiff and scared. When she was pressed close as they moved, she did squeak and bluff. When she was dipped, she did not look like she was facing an angry Fenris charging at her. Instead she was... smiling.

That pure and sweet and innocent smile was plastered on her face once again. She heard Merrill's breathless chuckles as they moved, the way that the air rushed from her lungs in a pleased gasp each time she was dipped, the girlish giggles as her thighs were pulled up to dip her down. The warm smiles as she was twirled around hard enough to have her hair in her eyes.

Finally the tune ended, and they stood flush against one another, breathing hard from the exertion and flushed from the heat. Merrill's eyes were blown wide and the greens of her tattoos almost glowing against her flushed cheeks. And my, up close the earthy smell of the elf seemed rather erotic.

Another tune started up, more for drunken stumbling then the passionate and hands on dancing of her almost forgotten homeland. And she pulled away with a clever enough smile that Merrill did not know where her thoughts were drifting to.

"Enjoy yourself, Kitten?"

"Yes! You make much more sense now"

"Oh?"

"If you dance like that in your homeland, then there's a reason you act like you do" Merrill grinned before taking her hands abruptly "Can I teach you one now?"

Before she could protest, the dainty elf started flapping her arms around in a rather goofy manner, stomping her feet like a child and prancing about. And it took a few minutes of giggling at the sight to realize that it was the dance. And a few more moments of laughing to realize that it was not entirely silly.

It was... prime, animalistic, pure and light hearted. Movements meant to mimic the movements of animals with human like limbs and feet. It was the forgotten stories of her people conveyed through movements so it would not be stolen, meant to teach and convey without clumsy lips and tongues. And the more she watched, the more she liked the dance that embodied the innocent elf.

After but a few minutes, she repeated the movements, the dance shortness due to lost history no doubt. But she carefully observed, watched, memorized. When they began thrice, she mirrored the dainty elf's moves, much to Merrill's delight. It was a bit rough, a bit difficult as the movements were so jerky and abrupt. But she got the hang of it, ignoring the drunken looks she got as she pranced around with her friend.

After a few dozen repeats of the dance, they were laughing at each other as they had fun. And everyone was too drunk to ruin their good fun. They just enjoyed themselves until they ran out of breath and needed a moment, going up to the main counter to get drinks.

"That was so much fun!" Merrill chirped.

"It was, wasn't it Kitten?"

Merrill looked her straight in the eyes... and then stood on her tiptoes to steal a kiss right from her lips before shyly leaning back and blushing red.

"I-I-I sorry, I-I didn't mean-"

She only smiled coyly down at the cute, stuttering elf.

"Oh, no offence taken, Kitten"


	26. The Angry Elf

WARNING: Implied Zevran/Male!Warden. Mentions of gay sex, minor language

Despite Theron being my most loved of the DA heroes, I haven't done a lot with him. So here are short, dialog drabbles just for fun

* * *

><p>"Theron… please" Alistair groaned, looking up at the tree where the angry little elf was hiding.<p>

"Fuck off!"

"Theron… this is unreasonable" Wynne sighed.

"You'll never make me!"

"Theron! Get down here right this instant!" Morrigan yelled at him.

"Notice how all the shems are trying to make me do a thing for the shems!" Theron barked.

"Kadan, get down" Sten said flatly.

"You're agreeing with them?!"

"Oh, my dear Warden~?" Zevran called "Why don't you come down for me?"

After a short silence, Theron jumped straight from the branches and landed on the ground with a flair, glaring and pouting at the same. He stood and folded his arms across his chest, huffing as Zevran hooked an arm around Theron's waist and tugged him close.

"And that is how you get an angry Warden out of a tree" Zevran grinned.

* * *

><p>"Warden, we need-"<p>

"No" Theron snapped.

"But-"

"No"

"We need-"

"To fuck off" And he walked away.

* * *

><p>"Theron, choose who will rule Orzammar"<p>

"...no"

"Theron, if there was ever a time you needed to make a choice instead of being an insufferable ass" Morrigan started.

"A what?!" Theron snapped "And why are fucking dwarves making me pick? You short, stone humpers pick!"

"...what did you call us?"

Theron pulled out his swords as Sten pulled the angry little elf away.

"YOU LOT HEARD ME! SHORT, STONE HUMPERS!" Theron roared, thrashing with his swords out "Sten! Sten! LET ME GO! JUST ONE BEARD! JUST ONE!"

* * *

><p>"Say, Zev, you're pretty good at calming Theron down" Alistair noted one day "What's the secret?"<p>

"Well, he knows that I know all his weak points. I could incapacitate him at a moment's notice" Zevran smiled "I could also exploit his sexual attraction towards him and show everyone a certain face he never wants out of his tent"

"Okay, that's a-"

"Not to mention, I wear him out quiet well at night"

"Okay, sto-"

"I do apologize for all the screaming and moaning, but Theron is an enthusiastic bottom"

"sToP!" Alistair screamed.

* * *

><p>"Theron, please help us" The citizen begged.<p>

"...fine"

"...what the actual fuck? Did Theron just agree to help someone?" Alistair gaped.

"The Blight has killed us, and we are all in hell" Morrigan said, slightly agasped.

"Are you well?" Wynne asked.

"You all can fuck off!"

* * *

><p>"I want you to take it" Zevran said, holding out the gemmed earring to Theron.<p>

After staring at it for a few moments, Theron took it between his long, thin fingers.

"Thank you, Zevran" He smiled before turning to the door.

"I feel so loved" Zevran sighed.

"OUCH!"

Frowning, Zevran looked with equal parts amusement and horror as Theron whipped the blood away from his freshly pierced ear. He rubbed the still bleeding flesh for a moment before marching in unfazed.

"Did he just-?" Alistair asked.

"...Yes, yes he did"


End file.
